Super Fake Love Song - David Yoon Page 0,92

then we would work together—or not—to solve it.

We were LARPing again.

* * *

—

We were finally here.

Fantastic Faire, where the Delgado Beach and Glass Harbor freeways meet, take Exit 28b toward Hardware Gloryhole Parkway.

We crossed under a wrought-iron gate into a dusty canyon of hay bales on a sawdust floor. There was quite a queue to get in—people young and old, dressed as elves, orcs, Stormtroopers, Doras, SpongeBobs, anything and everything. We walked right by them all.

“There’s a woman in a chain-mail bikini,” murmured Gray in awe.

“Yap,” I said, striding.

“That green guy is totally naked,” said Gunner with wonderment.

“Nekkid!” said Oggy, his eyes so big the balls nearly ejected.

Gray, Gunner, and Oggy had all agreed to come—and even dress up—to support me as duty-bound friends. They had no idea how marvelous this nerd prom actually was, or how much celebrity they would receive.

I beamed with hometown pride, bless-this-mess. “Welcome to Fantastic Faire,” I said.

We turned right, flashed our EXHIBITOR badges at a cigarette-smoking knight standing before a velvet rope, and—boom—passed right on through.

Then we emerged into the Faire proper: a vast village of buildings from every style and era—as long as those styles and eras never actually existed in reality—all under a canopy of crisscrossed lines of colorful antiqued bunting.

I was a paladin in chrome craft foam, wielding a steam sword hissing mist*.

Jamal was a wizard in a sand nomad’s robe covered in runes glowing green and able to shoot lightning from his fingertips*.

Gunner was a crusty, leathery orc with an explosive mace in his green hand*.

Gray was in an ornate suit of fabric armor, which he thought looked cool but actually meant he was a ranger, one of the most useless character types in modern gameplay*.

Milo was a Spartan halberd soldier in nothing but a steel codpiece, fire-red cloak, and rock-hard exposed abs*.

Oggy was medieval Oggy*.

“Step back,” cried Jamal to the smiling crowd. He shot lightning at them, then retracted the wires to shoot again. “Make way!”

Gunner played his part with surprising élan, snapping and cracking his mace at happily shrieking kids and Faire-goers shooting video.

“Make way, I say!” cried Milo with a flourish of his cloak, causing women and men alike to suddenly thirst for cool water on such a sultry hot day.

“Lady Lashblade demands our presence!” I cried, and sliced a white arc before a dad holding up a camera.

The crowd loved us, and we loved them back.

I was home.

When we reached the stage, Lady Lashblade hugged us all (especially Milo, and twice). She was smaller than I thought, but no less powerful. Within minutes every wooden bench in the sunken outdoor auditorium was occupied with the most wonderful, most motley cast of characters all wearing their secret fantasies and desires quite literally on their sleeves.

She introduced us one by one in a voice so big it needed no amplification.

“Bless this space with your rapturous applause for the dark sorcerers of DIY Fantasy FX!” she roared.

The crowd clapped and clapped. And then they grew quiet. Dragon pilots sat still. Death set his scythe down so people in the back could see. Daimyo parents shushed their little samurai children.

They were waiting for the magic.

So I threw the cover off a nearby barrel full of props. We’d spent every night perfecting all of them.

One by one we thrilled the audience not just with fancy effects, but with instructions and expert tips on how to make their very own props that were Cheap, Readily available, Easy to assemble, Awesome in effect, Portable, and Safe.

Magic for everyone with a little bit of money and time to spare.

None of the props were for sale. We were here to give away knowledge, not things.

After our presentation, we lined up for a group bow as Lady Lashblade handed out flyers with our name on it. Our name!

“Make and believe!” chanted everybody.

“You’re gonna get a bazillion subscribers after this, so be ready,” she crooned into my ear. “Bank some content and keep on banking it.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“When the first advertisers start coming, call me,” she said. “I’ll help you out. You guys have merch potential up the hoo-ha.”

I wanted to cry. “Thank you so, so much, Lady Lashblade.”

“Please,” she said. “Call me Destiny.”

We signed flyers.

We shook hands.

We posed for selfie after selfie with fans old and new.

Gunner sat at a little stump off to the side, talking excitedly about something as Oggy rested at his feet. Gunner was talking with a maiden in modern dress. The maiden was Artemis, and she looked happy. Gunner