Greywalker - Kat Richardson [101]
As I approached the role-players, one of them was saying something about casting a spell and several others offered vociferous disagreement.
“No, no, you can’t cast that on a green wyvern.”
“Yes, he can, but it’s not going to work with the zombies there. They’ll just keep coming.”
They were a motley lot. Seven altogether, three women and four men—all in their thirties or so. One of the women was dressed in flowing robes of dark green velvet that didn’t hide the fact that she overflowed her chair a bit as well. Her auburn hair was longer than mine had been before the elevator incident. One of the other women also wore a gown of some sort and a twisted ring of yellow and black fabric around her brow. The third woman and two of the men wore dark jeans and shirts. The other two men wore tunics and narrow trousers under lightweight cloaks. One of the tunic men stood next to the large woman, so that his cape was free to swirl around him when he moved. He was very aware of the effect.
I stopped beside them. “Excuse me. I’m looking for a girl named Gwen.”
They appraised me, then looked around at one another.
The woman in jeans piped up. “You mean skinny Gwen?”
“I don’t know what she looks like. A mutual friend said I might find her down here playing Dungeons and Dragons.”
The standing man rolled his eyes. “You’re a complete noob, aren’t you? Don’t even have a character yet, I’ll bet.”
“I didn’t come to play. I’m just trying to find Gwen.”
“If you mean skinny Gwen,” started the jeans woman again, “she isn’t coming tonight. She said she was going to see a movie at the Grand Illusion. She asked me to play her character for her.”
“OK, I’ll try there. How will I know her when I see her?” I inquired.
“She’s really skinny, like count-my-ribs-through-my-clothes skinny.”
One of the jeans-wearing men objected. “She’s not that thin.”
The green-robed woman weighed in. “Yes, she is. She looks like the ghost of a supermodel who died of malnutrition.”
A titter ran through the group.
“All right,” I said. “I’ll look for the shade of Kate Moss. Thanks.”
They were arguing again before I’d gone ten steps. “I still say it’s pointless to cast daze on a green wyvern. . . .”
I wondered what Mara’s opinion would have been.
I climbed back up the stairs and escaped to the street, still looking for Gwen.
Part art house and part coffeehouse, the Grand Illusion is the northern anchor of the Ave. The southern anchor of this stretch of University Way NE is the University of Washington’s administration building. You can walk the gamut from administration to auteurism by way of trendy trash-chic in less than ten blocks, if you don’t get run down by an aggressive skateboarder on the way.
When I got to the theater, the film was already rolling. Two student-age couples sipping coffee and chatting in the café were the only people in sight. I stared at the ticket counter, trying to decide on my next move.
A young woman in a long batik-dyed skirt and a dark blue sweater set padded up behind me. “Hi,” she greeted in a low voice. “Did you want to purchase a ticket? The film started about eight o’clock, so the first feature’s almost over.”
“I’m looking for someone who said she was coming tonight. Her name is Gwen and she’s very . . . slender.”
She gave a rueful smile. “You must mean Lady Gwendolyn of Anorexia. She went in about half an hour ago. If you want, you can wait for her in the coffeehouse.”
I bought yet another cup of java and sat down to wait at a table that commanded a view of the theater door. Twenty-seven minutes later, the film ended and the audience trickled into the coffeehouse. Gwen was easy to spot.
She was a dead ringer for Waterhouse’s Lady of Sha lott. She was even wearing a long white dress with trailing sleeves. A cataract of strawberry