The Story of 1 Caped Dweeb, Two (Possibly Mormon) Missionaries , and 3 Cool Cats.

 
Subject: Re: Worst Live Action Vamp Game? (RE: Best ...)
From: Ben B. 
Date: Thu, Jan 8, 1998 21:04 EST

Doug Berry wrote:

: >Well, the Best game header got me inspired!
: >So, I'm curious what the absolute worst MET experience you guys ever had?

Well, I don't do LARP myself, being a table-topper at heart, but I did see
something last weekend that falls in the same category. 
 
There was an article a couple months ago in a local entertainment insert,
"Get Out" or something like that, about some Masqueraders that have been
LARPing around over at the Biltmore, kind of a fancy mall/nightspot in
Phoenix just south of Camelback Mountain.  It wasn't much of an article,
notable only in that one of the pics with it showed two vamp chicks in a
bit of a lip lock - one of them identified as a 15 year old.  I expected
this might cause a bit of a fuss, but fortunately I guess nobody reads it
for anything but the movie schedules.

I go over to the Biltmore myself every once in a while since some of my
friends are into hanging around the coffee shops there, and I'd seen
ankh-wearing goth-punk types around, so I figured those were probably the
ones in the insert.  Last Friday evening the coffee-shop friends wanted to
meet there since they had some time to kill before some Pink Floyd light
show that started at midnight.  I can take or leave Floyd, but I was in
the hanging-out mood, so I went. 

We were sitting around the coffee place - the other three sucking of
various exotic coffee concoctions and me with my usual iced tea (with a
shot of cherry something-or-other).  A James-Brown cover band was funking 
away groovily on the front patio, and between spurts of conversation I 
checked out the moderately large crowd.

It didn't take too long to spot the LARPers down along the side mall. 
The guy with the cape was kind of a giveaway.  They were milling around,
and some of the more normal looking ones were hard to distinguish from
bystanders, but I guessed there must have been a half-dozen or so, a
smallish group.  Every once in a while, one would stalk, prance, or
otherwise dramatically disappear down the side mall towards the interior
shops, or a new one would boldly stride into the scene from the same 
direction.  There were undoubtedly others congregated in a different part 
of the mercantile labyrinth.

Closer to the front patio with their backs to the LARP troupe was a trio
of cool-cat types.  Sunglasses at night, lots of leather (in contrast to
the LARP's vinyl), cell phone on each pair of hips.  Had to be waiting for
their table at the Planet Hollywood down the block.  They had too much of
a moneyed look to be part of the troupe, but you could see how they might
be mistaken for such.  Seated farther up toward the front patio were a
couple of young guys who really didn't belong there, gawky, clean but
plainly cut, white button-down shirts, dark slacks, backpacks.  I looked
out to the sidewalk.  There they were - two rather utilitarian bicycles
chained to a lamppost.  I glanced back at their table - a lemonade for
each. 

The band had started into a more soul-ish tune, the lead singer's
dreadlocks swaying slowly to the beat.  A few people were dancing.  My
iced-tea was about hitting bottom, when I looked back to the goth tables,
and saw the cape-wearer slinking around a potted palm.  I saw what he was
after.  Should I shout a warning?  Grimace painfully in anticipation? 
Just sit and watch?  The other LARPers seem too absorbed in some dispute
to notice the imminence of his faux pas.  Then he lunged... right for the
tempting white neck of cool-cat number 2.  I couldn't fault his choice;
she was a looker.  I figured that was probably against their rules even if
the target was part of the group, but this guy didn't really look like he
was completely in phase with everything anyway. 

Even with the shades, you could just about see her eyes widening from
where I was sitting.  The caped crusader had locked his teeth onto the
back of her neck, along with a good rope of her course black hair.  Her
screech nearly interrupted the music, but it does take a lot to rattle an
old bar band.  I remember I was thinking how a real vampire would have had
the sense at least to bite towards the front of the neck where the carotid
and jugular are accessible.  Comically, to my surprise, that was exactly
what the woman did. 

She twisted around like a stream of quicksilver, clamping onto the
assailant's caped throat in the same motion.  She was not particularly
tall, as well as pale and slight, rather Winona-Ryder-esque to name the
celebrity of nearest resemblance.  Her two male companions were taken by
surprise, their expensive earrings swaying beneath immaculately feathered
hairstyles as their heads turned.  The white-shirt-duo at the next table
were not surprised.  I suspected that they'd been waiting for something to
happen.  No one goes there for the lemonade. 

At this point, the rest of the LARPers had ceased excitedly making odd 
gestures at one another and were beginning to take in what was 
happening.  Plastic fangs hung agape.

On the other side of the incident, the two white-shirts had stirred and
were hurriedly extracting various items from their cheap polyester
backpacks, which they'd earlier stowed beneath the table. 

The pudgy fellow in the cape squirmed on the ground gurgling as the pale
woman's mouth bit into his cervical region.  The two men with her, one a
tall brown-haired anglo and the other a short but trim hispanic, looked at
each other in confusion and then started trying to pull her off.  From my
vantage, I couldn't hear what was being said, but the tall one hissed
something at the other, who then abandoned the dragging effort and
sprinted for the parking lot. 

The tall man's efforts became even more futile when the white-shirts
suddely piled on him from behind.  He tossed one off, but the other thrust
a large and evidently heavy silver crucifix into his face, impacting the
man's well-proportioned nose in the process.  He bent over in pain,
clutching his face.  The other white-shirt had by then recovered and was
succeeding somewhat at separating the two on the ground with the help of a
similarly large, heavy silver cross, which he applied as a prybar. 
Several of the LARP troupe had also joined in and in concert, they finally
pulled her away along with a fair bit of blood and perhaps epidermis as
well.  The woman stumbled backward and the first white-shirt pinned her
down, thrusting his crucifix towards her face, which she evidently found
objectionable as she squirmed in response and held his arms back with her
hands.  The second white-shirt was worriedly waving his cross at various
fanged LARP participants who seemed to be equally leery of him. 

White-shirt #1 and the counter-neck-biting woman seemed to have reached a
stalemate until an odd grin came over her face.  Attempting to ward him
off with one hand, she reached down with the other and flipped up her
loose shirt.  A look of shock came over the gangling man and he
reflexively averted his eyes.  It was just enough distraction that she
could kick her knee up into his groin.  His face cinched and he curled
over as she slid back, stumbled up, and grabbed her companion, who was
still bent over holding his bloody nose.  The caped LARPer still lay
supine on the ground in a similar state. 

The white-shirt who was still standing looked desperate.  A few of the
troupe had sneaked around him and were tending their fallen comrade, who
seemed to be sobbing.  On the other side of him, the woman was stepping
backward towards the parking lot.  She was propping up her companion and
oddly hissing back at the whole lot of them though a set of what were,
from the perspective of modern orthodontics, unusually pointy teeth

Momentarily, her second companion pulled up in an expensive car and flung
open the passenger door.  The two dove in as best they could, and the car
sped through the parking area as various pedestrians sprung out of the
way. 

The white-shirts had apparently settled on a similar course of action. 
The uninjured one quickly unlocked the bicycles from the lamppost.  He had
little trouble mounting and making his escape, though the other winced
throughout the entire operation.  It was an uninspiring getaway, but no
one seemed particularly interested in pursuing.  Indeed, surprisingly 
little notice had been taken of the entire skirmish on the side mall.

The LARPers seemed more embarrassed than anything.  The band had finally
taken a quick break, so many of the coffee sippers had turned their
attention to the hubbub behind them.  They sheepishly helped up their
disconsolate caped friend, whose bleeding had mostly stopped by that
point.  The troupe slowly faded back into the depths of the mall. 

Of course, the mall cops showed up about fifteen minutes later but they
saw nothing and did even less.  As we were leaving, I passed by the table
where the cross-waving white-shirts had sat earlier.  They'd dropped a few
things in their haste to evacuate.  Reaching down, I picked up a strange
pointed wood shaft, maybe six inches long or so.  Stenciled on the blunt
end were a stylized picture of a beehive and the inexplicable phrase: 
"Camelback Stake." 

Ben B.