“Shouldn’t use that name if you can’t manage one single raid without getting everyone killed,” Daniel says, continuing to bitch the new guy out.
“I have an idea,” I say, opening my mic for the first time. “Why don’t I take the new guy and show him around?”
This idea works in more than one way. I’m letting my team know we’re going to help him because everyone deserves a chance, but I’m also letting them take a breather and get some work done. Many of these guys schedule their play time around their work schedules and this may be the only night this week they can grab these chests.
I instruct the guy to a different mic channel so we don’t bother the team working while I break down the game into elementary level parts.
“You there?”
Crackling fills my ear.
“Wasp?”
More crackling.
“Motherfucker. What kind of bullshit sorcery is this?”
“Wasp?”
“Uh, yeah? RachelNRoss4Eva, is that you?”
God, I’ve never hated the fact my parents were such huge Friends fanatics in my life. But hey, I’ve been playing online for a very long time, and seriously, why change a good thing?
“Call me, Rach,” I urge him. I don’t know how many times I can hear my full username before I log out and drink an entire bottle of wine. Which would be a feat because I don’t even drink wine.
“Sorry if I pissed off the group.”
“We’ll get you straightened out.” I refuse to make excuses for them. Their frustration is justified even if their reaction isn’t. But we’re playing Orc’s Realm not inserting ourselves right back into my college psychology class.
“I appreciate that. I honestly wasn’t trying to ruin anyone’s night.”
“First, we need to start by getting you suited up properly. You aren’t going to get far running around out here naked with a club.”
“I used all my money, and call me crazy, but I can’t see paying real money for fake money as a good thing. Plus, I’m wearing a loin cloth.”
I felt exactly the same way when I started playing this game years ago, and it took me forever to build up my stashes. It shows character that he isn’t readily opening his wallet to buy all the expensive gear. It says he’s willing to work for what he has, either that or he doesn’t know enough about the game to understand the process.
“Don’t worry. Strip down, I’ve got you covered.”
He doesn’t say anything through the mic when he sheds his loin cloth, and although Orc’s Realm is very graphic, both with violence and sexual situations, he doesn’t make some creepy remark about being naked. And even though we’re able to build our characters to our specification, his character isn’t walking around with a huge cock hanging between his legs like many of the men who first start playing. What they don’t realize is that their characters can only wear specialty armor to accommodate such packages, and you have to be a level ten to get the grower not a shower package, which after experience, most guys get so they can pound their chests like psychos during the celebration orgies.
I drop item after item into his inventory and watch with a smile on my face as he navigates the items, dropping them repeatedly until he figures out how to handle them to make them work.
“Do you have prompts set up on your screen?”
“They take up nearly the entire thing. I can hardly see what I’m doing,” he answers.
“Hit ‘control m’ and it’ll drop it down to the corner. A little red dot will appear on the top right corner when there’s a new message. It keeps a running tally so if you don’t check it immediately, they’re still all there until you clear them away.”
“So much better. Thanks, Rach.”
Was his voice that husky a couple of minutes ago?
“Do you play a lot of online stuff?” I ask because keeping the conversation on the game will keep my mind out of the gutter.
“Loads of other stuff, but this game is nothing like the others. It’s like learning a new language.”
“I think that exclusivity is a lot of the appeal.” I notice he’s fully dressed in the items I donated, sword in hand. “Now let’s get to work.”
He follows me through the game, catching on much faster than I ever would’ve expected, and before I know it hours have passed.
I log off with only minutes to spare to reply to Mr. Jones about accepting the job, because let’s face it, being debt free by twenty-four wouldn’t happen any other way.Chapter 5Wren
“I also made tortellini,” Nana says as she shuffles toward the fridge.
“From scratch?”
She chuckles, the throaty sounds making me smile the way it always does.
“Who has the time to make pasta from scratch?” She pulls a sealed, plastic container from the fridge, showing it to me. “But I did get the name-brand kind this time.”