Chapter Text
Hosting regular Dungeons and Dragons sessions at the orphanage comes with it’s own challenges.
But you’d been running games in the loft for a while now, and had put some clever measures in place to protect your Friday night sanctum.
For instance, there are strict rules not to arrive before the allotted time. Sure, sometimes it leads to players loitering awkwardly at the front of the building, but so far everyone had managed to avoid Bailey and any other unsavoury characters who might be wandering the streets.
Thankfully, sneaking players out is less of a problem – in fact, you suspect there are times when Bailey isn’t even in the building when sessions draw to a close. Everyone is mindful of the caretaker’s wrath - even those who haven’t had the displeasure of meeting them. It’s testament to how much everyone values their Friday evenings in the loft, and how much they trust you and Robin as hosts.
When it comes to staying quiet, everyone does their best to accommodate. Robin had marked out the creakiest floorboards with yellow tape, and everyone knew to avoid them. The hatch is now kept well-oiled and in top condition – necessary after a damaged hinge caused the ladder to get stuck, then fall down unexpectedly. As it had come crashing down, the racket had put you all on high alert - but Kylar’s black eye had been your leading concern. Still, they seemed to revel in your sympathy, and you suspect they’d suffer through it again just to have you lay another icepack against their swollen face.
New rules are added all the time to help keep your meetings secret – and they’re easy to remember, because Robin had designed a poster and tacked it up on the loft wall in pride of place. The latest rule? No clapping, and definitely no cheering. Instead, Sydney had suggested jazz hands to celebrate party triumphs. Robin had needed no encouragement, but Kylar and Whitney remained sullenly unconvinced.
But there were times when it felt too risky – and regrettably, some sessions couldn’t go ahead at all. It’s always annoying to postpone a session at the final moment, but as you remind yourself: it’s a small price to pay for security.
Last week had been one of those occasions. Bailey had stuck around much later than usual, and it made you… uneasy. Robin had panicked, sure that Bailey knew everything, and you were both about to be beaten to within an inch of your lives. The reason for your caretaker’s lingering never became clear, but Robin was so distraught it felt sensible to postpone.
But delaying sessions caused issues, too. Because a week was skipped, things had gotten… a little mixed up. By the time you realise that tonight’s session is taking place on the final night of the month, it’s too late to replan.
Awkwardly, your Blood Moon experiences are the inspiration for tonight’s session. As your confidence as Dungeon Master had grown, and begun to plan more intricate narratives; needing less guidance from Robin and often leaving the orphan surprised and delighted by what you’d come up with. Inspiration comes from unlikely places… you lead an interesting life, after all.
Maybe it’s fate… or just bad luck. Still, the tale of the tentacled spectre is unlikely to raise any eyebrows… and after the session, a long bath to see in the sunrise would be a safe place to unwind.
Besides, it would be a shame to postpone again – everyone was looking forward to playing. After the dramatic death of Grok the Barbarian, Whitney had rerolled a Tabaxi Bard, and the charismatic character seemed to suit them. They’d been interested in bards for a while, and you’d once overheard them asking Sydney and Robin for their thoughts. In fact, you suspect Whitney’s bardic aspirations might have been the catalyst for Grok’s untimely death…
The other characters are thriving, too. Sydney in particular has become adept in the art of tabletop roleplay, and they clearly spent what little free time they had expanding their knowledge. There were now many occasions where they’d corrected Robin – always politely, saving their dry, biting wit for those that deserved it. Safyra the half-elf cleric had grown into a fascinating character who stood up for their beliefs fiercely; unafraid to call out injustice.
Kylar is more comfortable too – you always knew it’d be a very long process, but with support, they’re now much more involved than they were at the start. Kylar has a lot of good ideas – often noticing things the other party members miss. Sure, Hosu the Unyielding wasn’t the most traditional halfling rogue… but Kylar had grown into the character, and often put their sneaky racial abilities to good use for the benefit of the party.
Despite your nerves, the session goes well… really well. Time flies, and by the time you’re finished, the hour hand of Sydney’s watch is nudging midnight. Your players had found it to be another enjoyable adventure – even though it had been a shade darker than usual. Turns out, you had a rare gift for describing otherworldly horrors.
“Well… that was spooky,” Sydney states from across the wooden table, looking both disturbed and relieved to have survived.
“Yeah, didn’t think it’d be so… creepy,” mutters Robin, clearly impressed by your imagination. “How’d you come up with this stuff?”
You shrug, adding a guarded smile. It feels good to have impressed, but you’re not sure you can tell them the truth.
“I thought it was cool. D-don’t you agree… droplet?” Kylar grins mischievously, boldly tracing a finger up the back of Sydney’s neck and causing them flinch dramatically.
“Don’t do that,” Syd huffs, folding their arms.
“Uhh… so what does everyone want to do now?” Robin asks. Your brow furrows.
They must not have noticed the time – it’d certainly gone quickly. You’re about remind everyone that it’s probably time to turn in… until it dawns on you why nobody’s leaving.
The sleepover. It was originally set for weeks ago… and been rescheduled for tonight.
Robin had been desperate for a sleepover for as long as you can remember. In fairness, it was one of those childhood opportunities that neither of you had experienced, being orphans. That loss had never really bothered you – but apparently, it was something that Robin had always yearned for. Now, with something vaguely resembling a group of friends and the privacy of the loft space, there was nothing standing between Robin and the sleepover of their dreams.
A lump thickens in your throat. Everything seemed to have snuck up on you all at once – how could you have been so foolish? Not even watching Robin drag bedding through the loft hatch all afternoon had reminded you of the arrangements... No wonder they’d spent so much time cleaning in here this week… You’d assumed it was because of Syd’s allergies.
A cold sense of dread creeps up your spine. The last day of the month had snuck up on you again, its pale tentacles now curling around your shoulders and wrapping menacingly around your throat, and you feel like you’re going t-
“You okay?” Sydney asks, studying you with quiet concern. There’s a ragged, rhythmic sound. You realise it’s your own breathing.
“No. Yes, I…” you stumble for a believable explanation. “I forgot everyone was staying tonight. That’s all.”
Apparently, you’re not the only one – Kylar and Whitney murmur in agreement. In fact, other than Robin, Sydney is the only one who’s remembered – they’d brought their own sleeping bag and all the supplies needed for an overnight stay.
For a moment you selfishly wonder if you might convince Robin to reschedule, but the hopeful gleam in their eyes stops you. Clearly, they’d been looking forward to this, and you feel like an ass for forgetting.
“It’s not a problem. There’s loads of spare blankets and stuff,” Robin beams, scampering over to the pile of bedding laid out on freshly swept floorboards. You recognise some of it as your own.
Whitney’s expression is somewhere between disbelief and second-hand embarrassment as they watch Robin gleefully show off their preparations. You wonder if the bully is completely immune to Robin’s sweet eyes – if anyone is, it’s likely to be Whitney.
They turn to you, eyebrows raised. “You in, slut?”
You hesitate, but the look on Robin’s face draws out your answer. How could you refuse?
“… Yeah. Of course.”
“I’ll stay,” Kylar blurts, looking you up and down intensely.
“Me too, then,” Whitney decides. You’re in no frame of mind to anticipate their motives, but you’d bet good money that your presence is the sole reason the pair agree.
You begin to pack away the remnants of the session – keeping your hands busy while your mind races. A blood-red moon hangs, just visible through the loft’s only window and staining the murky sky with its dreadful glow – you’d forgotten the loft even had a window. Robin must have cleaned it up since the last session, and you wish they’d not bothered. A layer of dirt would have made a comforting veil between you and that wicked sky.
Robin and Kylar help you lift the table and place it in a far corner, while Sydney begins folding down chairs one-by-one, and Whitney finishes off a packet of strawberry laces. The miniatures are stashed in a box and carefully hidden from view, along with any remaining snacks, dice and pencils.
But after clearing up, it becomes clear that Robin hasn’t really thought things through, and hasn’t planned anything past… well, sleeping. Whitney’s annoyed to find there’s no alcohol, and has a few choice words for Robin on the quality of their hosting. When Whitney’s idea of “seeing who’d win in a fight” gets rejected, they march over to the window with a huff of annoyance before cracking it open and lighting a cigarette.
Unsurprisingly, Sydney’s against the idea of a homemade Ouija board, and threatens to leave if it’s so much as mentioned twice. It’s quite apparent that nobody has any idea what sort of activities a sleepover should entail… and its sort of sad. You really are a bunch of misfits.
“I guess we could just… sleep?” Robin suggests, raking fingers through their hair. “Sorry. It is kinda late, though…”
Your chest stings. Absolutely not. Sleep is the last thing you want right now, and you search the corners of your brain for anything you could suggest instead. Unfortunately, there’s nowhere to plug Robin’s console up here, and Spin the Bottle seems like a terrible idea given the company. There’s a couple of board games in the Main Hall, but they’re missing a lot of pieces... You’re not sure Robin could handle that again.
“Well, I’m pretty tired…” yawns Sydney – they look it, too, rolling out a blue sleeping bag and eyeing it as though it’s the most luxurious thing in the world. Kylar’s building some sort of nest exclusively from your bedding – methodically identifying it by smell… or possibly taste.
“I don’t want to sleep,” you declare, as cheerfully as you can manage. It must not have sounded cheery at all, because Sydney’s looking at you strangely. Maybe they can’t relate.
“What? Why not?” asks Robin, puzzled. You shake your head, unsure how to explain yourself.
“It’s… I…” You shift under their combined gaze. “I can’t sleep.”
“I can tire you out, slut!” Whitney calls from the window. It’s not unexpected, but their comment makes you want to scream – and Kylar looks unimpressed too, whipping round to fix Whitney with a glare as they finalise their nest.
“No… I can sleep, I just… don’t want to.” You explain, frustrated. You decide it’s hopeless, flopping down on a cushion. It’d be much better to just… disappear for the night, and you briefly consider making excuses and leaving. Nobody’s sure how to respond to your strange behaviour, and they eye each other for what feels like minutes.
“Is it nightmares?”
Your gaze flickers to the source of the sound. It’s Sydney, adjusting their glasses. Their tone is without judgement, and gently invites you to be a little more sincere.
“Sort of…” you reply. It feels like a safe, if not entirely truthful admission, and you’re thankful for the suggestion.
Robin nods, as though it suddenly all makes sense. They sit beside you, leaning over to make a suggestion.
“Do you want to…” their voice drops to a low whisper. “Y’know… cuddle?”
It’s too much for Kylar, who’s buried under your duvet. They thrash the bedding away and hurry towards you, gripping your arm with small hands.
“I made your bed, my love!” their eyes flash, and Robin looks a little alarmed.
“You lot should sleep. I’m going to stay awake,” you declare firmly. They must realise you’re serious, because despite confused looks, nobody presses further. Perhaps they’re used to your occasionally unusual behaviour by now.
“Won’t you be bored?” Sydney asks, wrinkling their nose. “You should have some company, at least.”
“I’ll stay up with you,” assures Kylar. You don’t doubt their ability after watching them drain 4 energy drinks over the course of the evening.
“We’ll take turns,” suggests Robin, their eyes regaining a familiar sparkle. “Could be fun, right?”
Between your companions, the night is divided up into 4 equal parts, with the final shift finishing around sunrise. It works out at just under 2 hours each before dawn – something they all agree is very much doable.
“I’ll go first,” Sydney offers, raising their hand to stifle a yawn. It seems like a bold choice, until they explain. “Once I’m asleep, nobody will be able to wake me… So, I should go first.”
You smile. It’s a thoughtful offer, especially because Syd probably needs sleep more than anyone else here.
Kylar’s quick to suggest going second, and Robin’s third. Whitney’s happy to go last – they seem most confident about keeping you awake during those crucial final hours, and it’s a bit unnerving.
As the others get comfortable among pillows, cushions and blankets, you find a spot a little further away and lean against some sturdy cardboard boxes; filled with ancient files, probably from long before Bailey’s time. Robin’s done an excellent job making the loft cleaner and cosier than it’s ever been. Even the cobwebs overhead had been cleared, and the floor was so clean you could swipe a finger across it and come away unsullied.
Robin escorts Sydney to the bathroom to brush their teeth and change into pyjamas. Kylar plops atop their pile of claimed blankets, resting their head on your pillow. Whitney has created a pile of stripy cushions, and lays atop them, a hood shielding their face from view. They don’t look particularly comfortable, and busy themselves listening to music that’s so loud it can be clearly heard from your vantage spot.