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It started out innocuously enough. Hermann may have a reputation as a strict, rule-abiding and dice-worshipping Dungeon Master, but even he wouldn’t kill a character after only just achieving level 3 in their weekly D&D session. It would derail the story and they’d all agreed that, as leisure time was limited in the Shatterdome, they would only play with their original characters. There were to be no chance to create a new character until another campaign started and Hermann was willing to make concessions because of that.
So really, it only appeared that Hermann was more lenient with Newton because, well, Newton was a truly abysmal D&D player.
That fact had become evident early into their first campaign mission. Mako had been coaxed into playing and, despite never having played before, turned out to be quite the natural. She had a pilot’s ingenuity and a respect for the gameplay that immediately endeared her elegant character, a human rogue with a sabre-sharp wit, to Hermann. Tendo was a regular player, playing as a charismatic High Elf with Legolas aspirations.
Newton, on the other hand, was perhaps the most seasoned D&D disaster Hermann had ever encountered. He was, to his own admission, spectacularly awful at the game because he lacked one important requirement: impulse control.
So maybe Newton often forgot to equip his shield in melee combat; Hermann wasn’t petty enough to pick up on that. And maybe he was generous with the kind of items Newton found. It was just that, sometimes, Hermann ensured that Newton’s tattooed half-orc was luckier than Newton had ever been in the real world. It had nothing to do with Newton’s company, or God forbid, his feelings. It was solely about the game.
It came to a head on their third campaign mission.
“Um, Newt, you’re seriously low on HP right now. You sure you want to go for another hit?” Tendo cautioned as Newt sized up against the Mage attacking their group. Hermann had gone for a location as different from the Shatterdome as possible, describing lush mountain vistas and deep, sonorous forests with pinpoint accuracy. It took all of fifteen minutes for Newton, or Gudjari Zeppelin, to have taken a beating against most of those trees, but Newton charged headfirst into battle regardless. Newton merely shrugged.
“Eh, luck of the dice, my friend,” Newt said, “Besides, bravery is always rewarded, dude.”
Hermann almost interjected to say that, actually, chance had no preference for the brave, or the stupid, but he was sure Newton knew that. Tendo sighed and rolled his eyes.
“Alright then, go ahead Newton,” Hermann said. Newt grinned, blowing on the die first. He offered it to Mako, who merely looked at it with disdain before Newt shook his fist and cast it onto the table.
The silence was absolute as the die bounced across the table.
It skidded to a stop. A 13. There was a collective wince. Hermann saw Newt check his HP and, with a nonchalant tug of his lips, looked at Hermann.
Hermann wanted to follow the rules. He’d followed mathematical ruling his whole life, rarely straying from the path that numbers carved. 13 was a number, and it was the wrong one. It didn’t match the enemy armour class – a roll that would prove fatal for Newton on the Mage’s next turn. Rules, Hermann knew, were rules.
Hermann opened his mouth to describe Gudjari Zeppelin’s axe missing its foe, and soon after, wipe Newton from the game. Newton, who was as infuriatingly reckless in D&D as he was in real life. It drove Hermann insane. The only reason he’d invited Newton to their weekly session in the first place was because Newton had pestered him into doing so and maybe, just maybe, because he had pitied how thoroughly exhausted Newton had looked after his last fortnight without a rest period. Hermann hated his heart for skipping a beat when he’d come to work one morning to witness Newt close to tears after his second consecutive all-nighter. He had suggested a shared leisure period before even realising the words were coming out of his mouth.
And now, when he could finally remove Newton from the game, Hermann hesitated. Because damn Newton all the way to hell and back, but he was different outside the lab. Hermann was different, even. Here they had no reminder of the countdown above their heads, no stinking Kaiju remains to taunt them about their latest failure, nobody breathing down their necks. Rather than bickering about who was right, Hermann found that Newt actually enjoyed hearing Hermann’s theories on their walk to sessions. Rather than teasing Hermann for being a passionate DM, mocking the way Hermann spoke about poetry and magic, Newt sat enthralled.
It reminded Hermann of the men they had both been years ago, in their letters. Truth be told, he liked himself more this way, too.
To lose these sessions with that Newton, and this Hermann, would be to lose the only thing Hermann loved in this entire damned Dome. Maybe in his entire life, if he was honest with himself.
“It – it’s a hit,” Hermann lied. Tendo’s jaw dropped.
“Hang on,” Tendo said, “A minute ago, I got a 14 and it missed! How come he hits with a 13?”
“You must be mistaken,” Hermann said, “Newton, calculate your damage please.”
The baffled look in Newton’s eyes made Hermann’s stomach flutter.
“I’m pleased to inform you all that that was a critical hit,” Hermann said. Tendo hissed a noise of celebration, turning to high five Mako. Newton, however, continued to look silently at Hermann with a calculating expression.
“The Mage staggers back as Gudjari stands and raises his axe,” Hermann said, “Newton, would you like the honour of describing the final act?” Newton was quiet for another long moment, still staring at Hermann. Whatever he read on his face made him smile slowly, his ears tinging pink.
“I go for the head, it’s a classic movie rule,” Newt said.
“Indeed. In which case, Gudjari strikes the Mage’s head, severing it from his neck.”
Newt whooped, breaking the spell, his gaze turning from pensive to sparkling in an instant. He bounced in his seat as Tendo pulled him in with one arm around his shoulders and ruffled his hair. Newt laughed, squirming, flicking a die at Mako when she giggled at his predicament. Hermann hid his own smile behind his DM screen.
“I will see you all next week then,” Hermann said, when he had divvied up their EXP. Mako bowed to him when she left, thanking him for the session. Hermann wished his ears wouldn’t turn pink at her politeness but there was a flower of pride in him that always bloomed at her kindness. Even after everything she’d witnessed, she was still the intelligent, courteous young woman he’d met when Stacker Pentecost first introduced them.
Newt took his time gathering his things, sweeping his dice, and no doubt half of Tendo’s, into his bag.
“Thanks Herm,” he said, “Erm, I guess I’ll see you in the lab then, tomorrow? We can… we can get coffee, maybe, at lunch? I’ve got some character backstory I wanna go through with you.” Hermann nodded tersely, avoiding Newt’s bright expression as he patted Hermann on the shoulder and dashed from the room. The touch lingered on Hermann’s shoulder when he left, warm and secure.
Tendo folded away his notebook and stashed his dice in his pocket, raising an eyebrow at Hermann as he stared at the open doorway. Tendo chuckled, shaking his head.
“You know, if you want to keep Newt in the game so much, you could just revoke the one-character rule,” he said, “’Cos you’re gonna lose your mean DM rep if you keep changing the rules like that.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Hermann scowled. Tendo shrugged.
“Mako noticed it way before me, but now you’re just making it obvious. You should go for coffee with him, like he said.”
“And argue, as we always do? I think not,” Hermann said, “No, this is quite sufficient, thank you Tendo.”
Tendo scoffed. “Dungeons and Dragons isn’t the only thing you guys have in common,” he said. He sauntered to the door, pausing as Hermann folded down his DM screen. Was it such a crime for him to want to spend less time arguing with his lab partner and more time enjoying his company? So what if he actually enjoyed their conversations without the pressure of saving the world; so what if he could imagine them as… something else, if the world wasn’t at stake?
“I’m just saying,” Tendo said, “There are other ways of spending time with Newt.”
“Like what?” Hermann spat. He dipped his head, concentrating resolutely on pushing his pile of DM guides into his briefcase.
"Like a date,” he heard Tendo say.
When he glanced up in shock, Tendo was halfway out of the door, a peace sign thrown in Hermann’s direction. He scowled, already plotting the most hazardous possible event for the High Elf he could think of. He wished that Tendo’s wisdom stat wasn’t so damn high. But, Hermann supposed, if a half-orc, controlled by the most ridiculous man Hermann had ever met, could defeat a Mage with a bad roll and a knack for good fortune… maybe one coffee date was achievable after all.