#bowie001

Dungeons and dragons, though it might not appear that way with the tea and pastries the ladies came packing into the arcade with. It was game day and Rosemarie was dungeon-mastering as usual, her roarous accent and theatrical recitation of written notes dazzling her players and listeners alike. She has her fun, even if all the blipping from the games on the floor above was a nuisance in those tense, dramatic moments; like when her friend’s tiefling proposed to slay a whole dragon with a pickle, and promptly rolled a natural twenty. 

With her players all gone and safe on their ways home, she walks herself to the building’s landline, picking up and dialing Bowie’s extension. “Mr. Bowie? We’re with the dungeon room. May have a tiny teensy smidgeon of a mess.” He could probably hear the smile in her voice, mischievous little thing. “Help me clean?”