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Dice clattered across the table. Amidst the ambience of Mephistopheles bumping and rolling across the City, the sound melted away into the background.
“Um, I think that’s a… seven, so, carry over the bonus, and… Ten! Does a ten hit?”
Don Quixote furrowed her brow. “Hrm… should my memories serve correctly, the dancing lion has an Armor Class of… zero!”
“Zero? A-are you sure that’s right?”
“My cranium is a vise, young Sinclair! Now, roll for damage!”
“Sinclair? Don Quixote? What the heck are you two doing?” Ishmael had intended to just pass by the pair on her way back to her room, but the mess on the table that loosely resembled a JnJ setup caught her eye.
“Aha; it is the prodigal lady herself!” Don Quixote gestured proudly towards a chicken-scratched piece of paper; blackened and tearing at the seams. It could hardly be called intact. “‘Tis merely a rousing game of Jia-Who Journeys, as thine eyes can plainly see!”
Ishmael frowned. “...Let me see that.” She stalked up to the table; snatching the paper out of Don Quixote’s hands. She squinted. “This is… a battle map?” Don Quixote nodded vigorously. “That you’ve been… manually drawing and erasing positions on.” Don Quixote continued to nod.
“...Haah. This is terrible,” Ishmael sighed. “I-I mean, I get that having to give up your hard-earned Ahn to some company is a really crappy feeling…” Her eyes passed over a set of dice as she spoke. Clearly handcrafted, and shoddily at that. “...but this is really a lot of effort to substitute for just biting the bullet and paying up.”
Don Quixote made an inhuman sound of interest. “Oho? Wherefore may I acquire such ‘beef-spork’ JnJ materials? Verily, if I were aware of a Workshop with fair rates of exchange… do tell, I beseech thee!”
Ishmael grinned at the go-ahead to start rambling without interruption. She cleared her throat, and produced a magazine from her jacket. “CTRPG Quarterly. It’s required reading if you’re at all serious about this stuff, you know.”
She pushed her smirk back down, and started to rifle through the pages. “Anyways, the paraphernalia is usually on page 6… here we are.”
She turned the magazine around, and pointed to a teal-violet logo. “You want this. Die-Cast Workshop’s stuff is like, industry standard, and the fairness of their dice were independently verified by three J Corp observer Offices. Some asshole sold me a Checker die once that was from one of those damn dual-material sets–the ones that only newbies who only care about what looks cool buy. I specifically told the courier not to get the one that was multicolored, you know? I gave it, like, a thousand rolls, and it was definitely showing 3 more often than any other number. What the hell would I even need a weighted die for? What, so I could pull some underhanded shit by fudging the dice? No. That’s not the kind of person I am. I wouldn’t cheat.”
“W-wow, miss Ishmael! I had… no idea you were so… passionate?? About JnJ?” Sinclair wavered slightly, but stood tall in the face of Ishmael’s verbal onslaught. “Anyways, um…” He reached out a finger towards the page; trembling as if Ishmael was going to bite it off without notice. “So… you’re recommending Die-Cast Workshop materials, right? But… this seems a little expensive?”
Ishmael snapped out of her reverie. “W-what? No, it isn’t. I got a battle map for like, 25K Ahn from them a few years ago.” She flipped the magazine back around, and squinted at it. “See, here. It’s only… ninety thousand Ahn…” Ishmael trailed off.
“Pardon? My ears seem to have failed in receiving thy latest attestation in full?”
“N-nothing. It’s… nothing. …ninety thousand…”
Sinclair raised a hand. “Um, I still have s-some funds left over from my family trust, Don Quixote, so even if it’s a bit expensive, I can–”
“No, screw that,” Ishmael spoke abruptly. Sinclair yelped. “U-uh, not you, Sinclair. Sorry.” She cleared her throat.
“What I mean is… that’s a ridiculous asking price to get into the hobby, so… you guys can just use my JnJ supplies. As long as you don’t break them or anything.”
“IN TRUTH?!” Don Quixote practically leapt onto Ishmael, and started violently shaking her hand with charcoal-stained palms. “I can fain thank you enough for your generosity, Lady Ishmael!! I swear upon mine own life, I shall return thy merchandise undamaged–nay, in better quality than before!”
Ishmael made a face like she was suddenly losing confidence in the idea of lending out her JnJ materials. “...I think you should swear on something more permanent.” She turned to Sinclair, trying to ignore the shorter woman currently latched onto her. “Sinclair. You’ve seen Don Quixote JM. Is she going to actually treat my stuff carefully?”
“...Um,” he started.
“You know what, never mind.” Ishmael sighed. “I guess I could get some aftermarket materials for a decent price,” she murmured under her breath.
Sinclair raised a shaky hand. “Um, if you a-aren’t certain Don Quixote will, er, ‘be careful’ as a JM, maybe… you could?” He cast a furtive glance towards Don Quixote; who had stopped shaking Ishmael, and was looking back at him with a suspicious expression. “J-JM, that is.”
“...Really?” Ishmael’s eyebrows raised, and her lips twitched.
“O-oh, I mean, i-if you don’t want to, then–”
“No, I definitely want to, I–” Ishmael removed Don Quixote’s hands from her person. “I’m just. Surprised you want me to?”
Sinclair cocked his head. “Um, is that supposed to be surprising?”
“W-well, it’s just that as a JM, I’m honestly quite… uh, never mind. Anyways, of course I’ll come on board. Don Quixote; are you OK with that too?”
“Ah–verily!” Don Quixote snapped to attention, as if she had been focusing on something else rather intently up till now. “‘Tis fortunate indeed that thou hast such zeal for the honorable sacrifice that JMing entails. I hadst labored under the thought that the trepidation towards JMing common to JnJ players dwelled in thine heart as well–thus did Sinclair’s momentary audacity prove provenant!”
“It–it’s fine. I actually… don’t really like being on the player side,” Ishmael said with an odd nostalgia.
“...Hey, wait.” She narrowed her eyes, and glared at Don Quixote. “Where do you get off knowing about things ‘common to JnJ players’?” Ishmael put a hand on the coat of the Bloodfiend, who looked innocently off to the side. “And, on that map…” she shot a glance to the table. Written next to the black mass of eraser smudges that was the dancing lion’s token was ‘AC 0’. “...those are 3.0 rules. How the hell do you know something like that, if you’re inexperienced? Did…”
“...Did you try to trick me into JMing a game for you and Sinclair?”
…Don Quixote raised a finger. “AHEM! Do allow me to say, in mine defense, that ‘twere indeed young Sinclair who proposed this artifice to begin with! Thus, the blame shan’t fall squarely on my shoulder–”
“All I said was ‘It would be nice if Ishmael could run a game of JnJ for us’???”
Ishmael picked up Don Quixote by the jacket, fought off a soft, warm voice trying to make its way into her head, and then let Don Quixote down; heaving a massive sigh. “You two… could have just asked. Sure, JMing is work, but it’s work that goes into spending time with my friends. I like that kind of work.”
Sinclair breathed out a sigh of relief. “Right, I get it now, miss Ishmael. Sorry for giving you trouble. N-no hard feelings, r–”
“...Also, don’t EVER do that shit again.”