[ once upon a time, there was a boy who daydreamed of being spirited away to another world. dreams of waking up one day in the middle of one of his campaigns, no longer the dungeon master but the chosen one sent to save the day. brandishing a steel sword and wielding it with the poise and confidence of a knight by day, and introducing metal to a world that only ever knew bards by knight.
then chrissy cunningham slammed into his ceiling, bent and broken in ways no human body should bend. eddie munson didn't much care for magic anymore after that. all those dreams of heroics died with the horrible thump of her body hitting the ground, the cold reality that a world filled with magic lacked grim, glory, and loot. it was just his own, but worse.
and this... this is worse. much, much worse.
eddie's not loving the preaching. granted, he's not loving much of anything right now. teeth clenched tight and body coiled tight like a spring, ready to run. there's a bottle in the long sleeve of his robe and his hand is strangling the neck, ready to break it and fight for his life at a moment's notice. anyone who looks too comfortable here is given a wide berth as his mind races and he tries to identify potential friend or foe.
or if any of this is even real. ]
Hey, hey, uh - [ if you look sufficiently out of place, regardless of how else you look, you may find yourself being approached ] are you, uh, [ eddie stumbles, losing whatever composure he had. he rakes his fingers through his curls and grits his teeth, looking a little desperate. ] shit man, I, uh...
[ something bongs in the distance and he nearly jumps out of his skin. ]
Are you, uh, real? Is this [ his voice pitches up slightly ] for-fucking-real, man? Like is this happening or have I just fucking lost it
forbidden knowledge.
[ okay, well. this is real. that's been confirmed thrice over. eddie's had his complete nervous breakdown (and a half) and here he is, trying to be useful. maybe thankful to be alive even if it feels kind of like all he did was trade one cult for another. his knees are bouncing through the sermon, teeth chomping at his nails as he tries to settle his nerves and figure out the next move.
and then there's paper fluttering from the sky. a hand instantly lifts to catch one and he's sure, somewhere in the less frantic part of his mind, that this is bad move. that this thoughtless act is karma for all the times he laughed at a player failing a perception check.
but no one acts like they do at a table in real life. eddie squints down at the page and tries to decipher it, but the more he stares the less he understands. feeling the words slip and slide against his mind, nothing catching. someone speaks and some part of his mind latches on to what they said, blinking up at them in confusion. ]
Uh - sorry, man, I was zoning out... run that by me again?
eddie munson | stranger things
[ once upon a time, there was a boy who daydreamed of being spirited away to another world. dreams of waking up one day in the middle of one of his campaigns, no longer the dungeon master but the chosen one sent to save the day. brandishing a steel sword and wielding it with the poise and confidence of a knight by day, and introducing metal to a world that only ever knew bards by knight.
then chrissy cunningham slammed into his ceiling, bent and broken in ways no human body should bend. eddie munson didn't much care for magic anymore after that. all those dreams of heroics died with the horrible thump of her body hitting the ground, the cold reality that a world filled with magic lacked grim, glory, and loot. it was just his own, but worse.
and this... this is worse. much, much worse.
eddie's not loving the preaching. granted, he's not loving much of anything right now. teeth clenched tight and body coiled tight like a spring, ready to run. there's a bottle in the long sleeve of his robe and his hand is strangling the neck, ready to break it and fight for his life at a moment's notice. anyone who looks too comfortable here is given a wide berth as his mind races and he tries to identify potential friend or foe.
or if any of this is even real. ]
Hey, hey, uh - [ if you look sufficiently out of place, regardless of how else you look, you may find yourself being approached ] are you, uh, [ eddie stumbles, losing whatever composure he had. he rakes his fingers through his curls and grits his teeth, looking a little desperate. ] shit man, I, uh...
[ something bongs in the distance and he nearly jumps out of his skin. ]
Are you, uh, real? Is this [ his voice pitches up slightly ] for-fucking-real, man? Like is this happening or have I just fucking lost it
forbidden knowledge.
[ okay, well. this is real. that's been confirmed thrice over. eddie's had his complete nervous breakdown (and a half) and here he is, trying to be useful. maybe thankful to be alive even if it feels kind of like all he did was trade one cult for another. his knees are bouncing through the sermon, teeth chomping at his nails as he tries to settle his nerves and figure out the next move.
and then there's paper fluttering from the sky. a hand instantly lifts to catch one and he's sure, somewhere in the less frantic part of his mind, that this is bad move. that this thoughtless act is karma for all the times he laughed at a player failing a perception check.
but no one acts like they do at a table in real life. eddie squints down at the page and tries to decipher it, but the more he stares the less he understands. feeling the words slip and slide against his mind, nothing catching. someone speaks and some part of his mind latches on to what they said, blinking up at them in confusion. ]
Uh - sorry, man, I was zoning out... run that by me again?