There’s a shuffling sound all around me like feet sliding in the dirt. Voices? It’s so quiet I can’t tell. Someone is talking in hushed tones. No, more than someone. Many someone’s. Voices are trepidations, cautious? Angry. Oh no. It’s because I threw up at the Con. Where am I? Did I throw up inside the portal?
“Arial?” Sitting, I pull my knees to my chest and dig the heels of my hands into my eyes. My skull is slicing in half with pain, like the worst possible migraine is working its way in. I feel so dizzy and off-center. I can’t believe I got drunk.
“Arial, I’m so, so sorry.”
Maybe if I just go back to the hotel room and splash some cold water on my face, I’ll come around. That’s it. I’ll get some strong coffee and cold water and I’ll be fine.
Another voice. A female’s voice. The language isn’t English. She sounds really, really pissed. Scrubbing my hands over my eyes I blink again, realizing I can see now. My surroundings come at me in bits and pieces, blobs and shapes, everything coming together. Slamming into my brain.
“Oh…wow.”
Fear pulses through me. I mean, how can I help it? This—this is nuts.
This is a movie set. It has to be. There’s an indie film being shot at the Con or something. The actors are costumed so realistically that I do a double take and momentarily question my sanity. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was surrounded by aliens.
Real aliens.
There’s a forest of legs surrounding me. A lot of legs. The sound of conversation elevates to a near deafening level. Ugh, my poor, aching head. Covering my ears with my hands, I groan as the voices seep through. Everyone sounds so angry. The feet scuffle, kicking up rocks which spray in my direction. With a yelp, I cover my face with my forearms. Maybe this is a LARP group, and the fighting contest is about to begin? That’s got to be it.
Peering between my arms, I look around. I don’t recognize these characters, but, again, I’m so out of touch with the new comics that it’s not a surprise. The shuffling becomes more flurried. Perhaps they forgot that I’m sitting here. I worked too hard on this costume to have it ruined. Pushing to my feet, I wipe my hands on the thighs of my fake leather pants and scowl to find small scuff marks in the fabric. Probably from the rocks.
The air quiets, and I realize the LARP’ers have gone still. They’re looking at me. All of them, and there are a lot of them. Rows of costumed aliens reach the very back where they become a blur. My pulse stutters as I get a real, unblocked view. I’m not normally a confident person, but the self-consciousness going through me right now is off the charts. My costume feels suddenly exceptionally inadequate compared to the absolute perfection of the costumery, makeup, and wigs before me. And the weapons!
“Wow!” I gush and make a slow circle. “Just, wow!”
I have to crank my head up to get a full view of their faces. They’ve got to be about seven feet tall, but a quick glance at their feet makes me wonder where the stilts are? Some are wearing sandals while other, military style boots. The males wear form-fitting pants, without a bulge or line that I can see indicating a riser is giving them the superior height. There’s only the outline of muscle. A lot of muscle.
The group closes in on me. Their wide, almond shaped eyes are solid white and narrowed angrily. Lips are pulled thin. They’re really in character.
I can’t wait to see the show!
A male with a black and white fur cape advances on someone to my left. Oh. Ying and Yang. I get it. The male to the left of me is pure white. His skin is a bit reptilian looking with scales covering just beneath collarbone and traveling over his naked, beautifully muscled humanoid chest. Huge pectorals top a long rib cage, tight abdomen, and slim hips. He’s wearing a cape of red fur which wraps around his lower half, blocking my view of the rest of him. He moves his arms, revealing them from the cape. His biceps are as large as my head. Odd. That’s some body mold he’s wearing.
I wonder how they made his bone structure wider and stronger to accommodate the height and musculature? His facial bones are definitely thicker than a human’s and it looks so real. He’s wearing pointed ear prosthetics, and his cheekbones are wide and sharp.
The two men come face-to-face, the one in black yelling in a booming baritone. The white man stands calmly with his hands folded in front of his abdomen. Long, thick, twisted cords of hair cover his head and flow behinds the tops of his shoulders. A leather band holds some of the cords back, and it’s probably my imagination, but it seems like the ends of his hair are moving. I’m drawn to studying his hair, momentarily losing myself in whether or not I’m imagining things, when the man in black shoves the white man, causing him to take two quick steps backward. He recovers and stands taller, lifts his chin, but doesn’t retaliate.
Another male comes forward and grabs the white man’s hands, flips them over as if he’s looking for something. He begins to yell now, his voice accusatory and harsh. I hear the word, ‘anaash’ tossed around a few times. No idea what language that is or what it means but considering the crowd grumbles and groans whenever the word is used, I think it’s time to find a seat. Something’s going to happen. I can feel it.
I’ve been feeling that way a lot today.
Still stunned by the artistry around me, I quietly look for a path through the LARP’ers so I can maybe find a seat, and Arial. Someone grabs my arm and jerks me back into my spot.
“Hey! I’m not part of the show. Look at me. Obviously.”
It’s the man in black. His face is directly above mine, giving me an unaltered, full view. My mouth drops open and a zing of apprehension goes down my spine, rattling me. His eyes are completely white. No pupils, no irises. Just creamy nothingness framed by thick, enviable lashes. His facial muscles contort into something pretty darn close to contempt. How did the designers get facial molds to move so naturally?
“Who did your costumes? You’re amazing.”
His expression goes murderous. Small scales at the hollows of his cheekbones flip outward and stand on end.
“Whoa! That’s incredible!”
Without thinking, I reach up to feel them. How can I not? I’ve never seen prosthetics like this. The man grabs my wrist, spins me, bends me in half and pulls my hips hard against him. My sluggish brain is slow to catch up, but then I realize he’s got me in a doggy-style position with one arm behind my back. This is so not appropriate.
“Not cool. Crossing a line here, buddy.”
Suddenly, I’m free and the man in white has the dark man by the throat. He’s lifts him a good foot off the ground before tossing him backward into the crowd. Slicing an arm back to point at me, he says something in a commanding voice and then holds his hands up as if trying to show everyone something on his palms. A hard chill goes through me, carrying along that little premonition I keep getting that something big is about to happen.
