Chapter Text
Eddie stands over the table like he's King of Camelot, a wide and wild smirk dancing across his lips. His hands splay across the papers hidden behind his screen, knocking the multicolored and multifaceted dice aside. As any good Dungeon Master would, he neglects to say he's rolled a critical before proudly proclaiming the damage Mike's character is about to take.
"Forty-eight?" The shaggy-haired boy exclaims, repeating Eddie's smug words in disbelief. "I'm dead!"
"Like, super dead?" Dustin's hands fly to his face, dragging his palms down his cheeks.
"Dustin, I had seven hit points! My max is thirty-two!"
Eddie cackles and falls back into his throne, grinning like a maniac- like a freak . He doesn't care that this is the third time Mike has to create a character now, just like he doesn't really care that this is his third time as a senior in Hawkins High. Edward Munson is on top of the world.
His table is long and angular, with a head and a foot for its master and his cronies. It is not round and equal; the older boys, ones who have known Eddie far too long for their own good, sit at his left and right. The younger ones- Dustin, Lucas, and Mike- they sit across from him, backs to the floor and rolls to the group. As if they need to be watched.
You perch on a stool made of milk crates, the hard, latticed plastic stained with paint under your thick blue jeans. Not quite at the table but still close enough to reach out and touch it, you watch quietly, picking absently at the peeling colors. At your hip, your Walkman lies forgotten.
"And that's the end for the noble Sir Elrick." Eddie's voice is nearly a sneer as he draws out the words, giving Mike a truly hellish look as he slaps an empty character sheet onto the table. "Looks like you're back to square one, Wheeler."
You climb down from the perch the Hellfire club has so graciously granted you, the sound of your shoes hitting the floor nearly giving the boys whiplash. It's become a ritual now, ever since you moved in with your cousin, Dustin Henderson; drop him off at Hellfire, weasel your way inside, and watch as the strangest group of boys you've ever seen fight their way through Eddie Munson's dreamscape. You're still new in Hawkins, and that novelty has given you some popularity. You know they're weary of that- weary of the way popular people tended to treat them.
Eddie looks at his watch before throwing his head back in exasperation, exposing the long, pale column of his throat with a guttural, disgusted sigh. "Nope, wait a minute now, the princess has to get back home before her carriage turns into a pumpkin, right? And that means you little shits have to go with her too." He turns with a flourish of open palms, like he's throwing his dice at the freshmen. You can't help but laugh, shaking your perfectly hairsprayed curls.
"Come on Dustin, let's get this show on the road," You chuckle, choosing to ignore the so-called freak before you. "We've got to get Lucas back home by six-thirty, and I've already let this go on fifteen minutes longer than usual."
"You let it?" Eddie shrieks, and finally , you look at him. Usually, your eyes are on the kids all night in a sisterly, adoring way. You never worry for them, even when he does get a little too worked up and slams the table in his excitement, and Eddie can't help the way he aches for you to give him that same gaze- just without the sisterly part. The thought surprises him, making his stomach turn in a funny way.
"Yeah, I let it, Munson," You grin. "You guys were having fun and I didn't want to stop you. But maybe I should've, Wheeler!"
Then you were turning, ruffling Mike's raven hair as he scoops his dice into a velvety pouch. If Eddie remembered correctly, Dustin had once said in passing that you were the one to teach these newbies how to play, all arms and legs on Claudia Henderson's living room floor. He isn't sure if he believes that yet, but he wants to.
Eddie wants to ask if you'll play, but the party's already full. Besides, he can tell Gareth and Jeff and everyone else that you don't already know are uncomfortable around you. It's bad enough already that you stick around to watch, right?
But then the kids are chorusing their goodbyes and Gareth is rushing to hold the door open, making sure it doesn't catch on your purse as you follow your small army out. You smile at him in gratitude and he beams, so bright and idiotic that Eddie cuffs him on the head when he comes back to help clear the table.
"Get it together, man!" He hisses, yanking ringed fingers through his unruly curls. "There are to be no distractions if you sorry souls want to have any chance of defeating Vecna."
Eddie is nearly done shoving his notes back into the folders when he realizes that after this fight- just one of his minor bosses- he's got jack-shit planned out. Sure, he never starts a campaign without the main plot, but he's written next to nothing about what the party has done these last few sessions. There's nothing to spur new development and quests, which is so unlike Eddie Munson that he thinks he might scream. Like, bark at the moon kind of scream. And who's fault is that? Eddie, because he can't keep his goddamn mind off you any time the room goes silent enough for his thoughts to wander? No way.
"Ozzy!" Eddie roars, slamming his fists dramatically against the table. "I need Ozzy Osbourne!"