Nancy eyed the set up critically. There were a few things that were somewhat negotiable when designing the ambiance for a roleplaying session, and some things that absolutely were not. Steve seemed to have gone out of her way to introduce things to negotiate Nancy hadn’t even realized would need to be specified on the checklist.

“What? What is it?” Steve asked, skimming the checklist frantically in the lack of Nancy’s immediate approval. “It’s a basement, I’ve got pop and snacks, the lighting is yellow tinted and just bright enough we don’t squint, the chairs are cushioned and wheely-”

“Steve,” Nancy said sharply, just to make her shut up, then tried to figure out how to phrase her objection with the full brunt of Steve’s flailing desperation to have done perfectly focused on her approval. “I don’t know how to say this but…”

Steve’s eyes were already filling with damp.

Aw, fuck it. Nancy would just make sure to get there early for the next session.

“You did way better than I thought you would.” Well, at least that was honest.

Steve made a sharp noise, a lot like someone who had been expecting something painful and reacted accordingly even when it didn’t happen. Then-

“Wait, really?” and then, “Wait, what do you mean better? This list was exhaustive! Even I couldn’t mess that up.”

“It’s never smart to underestimate others in that regard. People have a way of exceeding your expectations,” Nancy explained. Steve squinted at Nancy suspiciously, trying to put together that sentence with ‘you did way better than I thought you would’ in a way that still meant she’d done a good job. Nancy serenely adjusted the Taco Tuesdaze napkins laid at the hilt of the table, and did her best impression of someone who wasn’t internally screaming at the table. The table, which was shaped like a giant sword, complete with an uncomfortably sharp wooden point.

“Nance-” Steve started but was abruptly cut off when the doorbell rang. “Oh my God! It’s happening!”

Steve rushed the stairs to start ushering in the party members, and Nancy whipped out her phone. With a few taps, she’d navigated to the group chat and started typing furiously.

                    NecroNancer

                    guyd, whatevery ou do do NOT insult the table7

Stevecerer

LOL. It cant be THAT bad

Youre too much of a control freak

                    NecroNancer

                    if i was a control ferak you wouldnt have that usrr n1ame

Leggomylassos

You can’t even use autocorrect.

Uh Nancy you’re not going to believe this

Stevecerer

DO ALL UNDEAD DRESS LIKE THAT? I DONT DRESS LIKE THIS YOUD TELL ME IF I DID RIGHT NANCY

Leggomylassos

But I think Steve might not be the most facepalm worthy part of the evening

Nancy locked her phone screen, and looked away from it, trying to imagine the frantic vibrating notifications as a cheerful little dance it was doing. Maybe it was the necromancer in her talking, but there was no good undead. In her mind, they fell into one of two categories: useful when carefully managed, and obscenely dangerous. She was the only necromancer in the tri-state area, the rest killed off by the Night’s Knights, their own miscast magic, or the flu. (Poor Betsy. She’d spent so long looking for a supernatural cause she hadn’t even considered pneumonia.)

Whatever was up there, she hadn’t made it. She doubted there was another necromancer in town, she would have felt them or at least felt their Risen. It would be inconceivably rude to not give her a heads up on the Intranet Bulletin, too. Which meant whatever was up there wasn’t being managed, wasn’t carefully controlled. It meant whatever was up there…was obscenely dangerous.

-*-

“HELLO,” Gallant shouted into Steve’s face, presenting the flier like it was proof of personal invitation. She made an attempt at a seductive smile, fangs carefully hidden behind her thin lips. “I AM HERE FOR THE BLOOD.”