A mysterious figure walked through the rain, drawing his cloak closer to himself as he approached The Club, a tavern of some ill repute. He stomped through a dark puddle as he reached the door, sweeping inside to the dimly lit interior within.

The quickest look around the place highlighted its seedy atmosphere. At every table sat a different suspicious character, all of which no doubt had their own nefarious background. He could feel eyes piercing into him the moment he walked in, especially from another hooded figure in the back of the room. This one's cloak was a dark crimson in color, with an ominous eye emblazoned across its front.

But he had a reason to be here. A dire quest that had brought him to this dark and foreboding place. He needed help, and here was the place to acquire it.

He coughed, opening his mouth to make an announcement to the tavern.

"Attention-"

The man didn't make it any farther than that. The hooded figure in the back, the one with the eye on their cloak, produced a long and lethal throwing knife from within the folds of their cloak and sent it flying across the tavern. The knife sank into his throat, neatly and effectively severing his jugular vein and sending him crashing to the floor, a bleeding and gurgling mess of a man.

"What the hell," I say, looking down at the dice on the table. "Just what the hell, Yuri?!"

The tall girl looks away, embarrassed. "I... oh, sorry... I was just... it seemed in character..."

"That was the quest giver," I groan, flipping through my campaign notes. "He was the story hook! Why would you kill him?"

Yuri's eyes perk up, and her voice sounds a bit defensive. "Well... I didn't kill him. That was Libitina. She identified him as a potential threat and decided to attack him first."

"Why would she identify him as a potential threat?!" I demand, exasperated. "All he said was 'Attention'!"

"He said it loudly, and startled her. She... she has very finely honed reflexes."

"You specifically described her watching his every move the moment he walked in! How could he do anything to startle her?!"

Sayori pipes up, her voice as chipper as ever. "Heh... I thought it was kind of funny. You never see that sort of thing happen in a movie."

"Funny?" I sigh irritably, flipping desperately through my notes. "I had pages of potential dialogue written for him. Pages..."

"You can't blame Yuri for roleplaying her character faithfully." That infuriating sentence comes from the mouth of none other than friggin' Monika, who points a finger in the air and at nothing in particular as though lecturing to the room at large. "Isn't that the point of this sort of game? Immersing yourself in another world and another character? Doesn't it defeat the point if we restrict these characters by making them act according to the meta needs of a narrative?"

Yuri nods timidly, drawing some strength from the other girl's support. "Ex... exactly. I hate when characters in a novel make choices that seem out of character, just because the author needs them to reach a certain point."

Natsuki is leaning into the table with her face cupped in one hand, looking bored out of her mind. "Yeah, but now we're just sitting in a bar with nothing to do. I didn't sign up for Alcholism: The Game."

I rub the bridge of my nose, thinking. "...alright, alright. I think I can ad lib a solution. Just bear with me and we can get a quest started."

I'm already feeling like I'm going to regret this.

As the body of the hooded stranger hit the floor, a second came out of the doorway.

"Well well well," he chuckled. "My partner has already gotten in over his head. It is of no matter. I can carry his job from this point-"

Another knife went sailing across the room, aimed directly at his throat. It would have slain him where he stood just the same, but in a lightning fast motion he darted his hand up and caught it by the hilt. He gave the figure in the crimson cloak a flat expression.

I give Yuri a flat expression. She has the audacity to look disappointed, but says nothing.

"Your instincts are as finely honed as I've been led to believe," the mysterious figure went on. He toyed with the dagger he had caught, eyes locked on the cloaked figure. "Still taking odd jobs to quench your thirst for blood, Libitina?"

Libitina only sucked in a deep rattling breath, visibly perturbed by the figure knowing her name. No one should know her name... and live.

The figure seemed amused, and turned to the rest of the room. "Ah, but don't feel left out. I know of the rest of you as well. You all have made quite the names for yourselves. You're famous—some of you infamous."

"Fame means nothing to me," a different figure said quietly, softly stroking a red ribbon he had tied to his shoulder. "Stories are as mortal as anyone, and in time those who tell them will pass from this world until the most epic of tales are remembered by none. All things are impermanent, and we are all traveling on the same long, lonely road to our own forgotten graves."

I stare at Sayori. Her voice got very serious narrating that, but she gives me an adorable beam and a thumbs up.

Right... I'll just... carry on like that wasn't the most depressing thing I ever heard.

"Samuel Saddsman," the figure said, only momentarily taken aback by the odd remark. "A shrewd detective, they say, if one with a bitter outlook."

"A bitter outlook? Me?" Saddsman gave a dry and mirthless laugh. "No, I am only a seeker of truth. And the truth is that life is pain. I learned it long ago when my dear wife took her own life, and that of our eldest daughter, having lost her sanity as a consequence of driving her carriage over a crippled orphan and his kitten during a festival..."

Saddsman went on, describing the circumstances of his wife's murder suicide, and the downhill spiral this sent him and the rest of his family upon. His second eldest daughter fell into a well and slowly starved to death, and then his third daughter ran away with a young man who wound up murdering her, and then his fourth daughter grew sick with the plague...

All eyes in the tavern turned to Saddsman, and yet he went on.

And on.

And on...

"Oh, ha ha... I think I went on a little too long," Sayori confessed, tapping her fingers together with a nervous smile. "Sorry. I hope I didn't mess everything up. Is my character's backstory too long? Is that it?"

I'm staring the table, feeling dead inside. "It's... it's fine, Sayori."

"No, it's not fine. I'm making this not fun. Um... Natsuki, what does your character do now?"

"He hangs himself," Natsuki grumbles. Monika gives her a sharp nudge with her elbow, and Natsuki gives a pained smile. "I mean... he finally looks up from the table..."

The largest figure in the tavern looked up from the table, and for the first time, the mysterious stranger realized just how huge of an individual this was. The chair he sat on, which could comfortably seat mercenaries in full armor, seemed like little more than dollhouse furniture next to his tremendous bulk. It was unclear how a figure so titanic could also remain so quiet and unnoticed in the corner, save perhaps that the assassin's random bloodlust and the detective's depressing backstory had distracted the room from him.

This was a behemoth of pure, raw muscle, which bulged at the seams of his simple tunic. When he spoke, his deep voice gave a simple, short utterance.

"Bun bored," he proclaimed. His fuzzy white face wrinkled in distaste, drawing attention to the runes and war paint that dyed the fur. His tall pointy ears twitched in irritation. "Bun want to crush something."

"Awwww!" squealed Samuel Saddsman. "He's so cute!"

"Oh—sorry," Sayori says sheepishly, flashing a smile. "My character didn't say that. He's been made numb to the delights and cruelties of the world and doesn't emote very often. But I think Bun is totes adorbs!"

Natsuki bristles at the remark. If she were a hedgehog with stainless steel spines, she'd probably look less prickly than the four foot tall pink powerhouse that's sitting across the table from me.

"Excuse me," she says hotly. "Bun isn't cute. He's a killer barbarian from the underworld!"

Sayori responds with a giggle. "He's a bunny, Natsuki."

"No he's not! He is a rabbitfolk barbarian who could crush your guy's skull like an egg."

"Still technically a rabbit," Sayori replies. "It's okay to want a cute character, Natsuki. This game's fun 'cause you can play anything you want."

"I didn't try to make a cute character!" Natsuki argues on. "I only chose a rabbitfolk 'cause that booklet he gave me says they have +4 to strength."

She shoots me a harsh glare, and I back up her statement with a quick nod. "She's right. They do have a +4 to strength and to grappling."

Natsuki nods with a smile, looking satisfied. Yuri's eyes catch an argumentative glint that I've come to dread.

"So do orcs." She says it softly, meekly even, but with all the provocative energy of a declaration of war. "That way, um... you could have the bonus without the association with cuteness. Since that bothers you so much."

Those eyes are cast downwards, but there's a chaotic energy to them. The pure mayhem of a volcano hidden behind what some would mistake for shyness. But not me. Certainly not Natsuki. Her own adorable eyes narrow in response. "Orcs can't dig as well as rabbits."

"It seems like digging is unlikely to come up," Yuri says, her reasonable tone splashing gasoline on the kindling.

"They don't have night vision," Natsuki replies through gritted teeth.

"Troglodytes do."

"You're a trogolodyte. When's the last time you left that cave you call a house on a weekend?"

"Excuse me-"

"Rabbitfolk must breed like crazy," Sayori blurts out. All eyes turn to her. She blushes immediately, ducking her gaze away while tapping her fingers.

"Er—what I mean is—well, rabbits have a lot of babies, so the rabbitfolk probably do, meaning, you know, you'd have a lot of them running around in taverns probably..."

Natsuki and Yuri's stares are blank and confused, and slowly turning back towards one another with the threat of continued verbal violence. A flustered Sayori opens her mouth only to be rescued by an unlikely heroine.

"I think what Sayori means," Monika says slowly, "Is that, from a worldbuilding perspective, the faster rates of reproduction among rabbitfolk make it more likely for you to run into a rabbit than an orc."

Sayori nods gratefully, pointing at Monika while I look on flabbergasted. Monika continues.

"Assuming their biology scales that way, the rabbitfolk's greater population density would make it incredibly unlikely for a tavern of this size to not have at least one of them. By playing a rabbitfolk, Natsuki adds a slice of realistic diversity to the party that otherwise could have easily been overlooked."

"...yeah," Natsuki says, leaning back in her seat with a slightly more relaxed expression. "So there, Yuri."

Yuri purses her lips but says nothing, opting instead to fidget with her hair. I breathe a sigh of relief.

"Thank you, Sayori," I say, earning an adorable smile in return. "And... thanks, Monika."

"No problem," she replies sweetly. "You and Natsuki must both be really invested in making this setting feel alive. I wonder why she's the only rabbitfolk here, actually—if there's that many in the world, you'd expect there to be more than one in the tavern. The tavern goers certainly wouldn't see Bun as anything remarkable or out of the ordinary."

Aaaaand just like that she's my antagonist again.

"There are... reasons for that," I say flatly. "Have a little faith in the master worldbuilder here, okay?"

Friggin' Monika. How much worldbuilding does she seriously expect me to do for a weird crack fic about the girls playing-

"You will have many opportunities to crush things—I will assure of that," the mysterious stranger said with a chuckle. "This world presents many opportunities for an adventurer of violence. I think you and Libitina may find you have a great deal in common."

The stranger nodded thoughtfully to the assassin at the other corner of the room, whose gaze was fixed upon Bun with a curious curl on her lips. Her eyes, hidden by her hood, could give no clues as to what was going through her mind as she was compared to the hulking barbarian.

"Don't compare me to that hulking barbarian," she said softly. It was the first time she'd spoken out loud, and there was a cultured sophistication to her tone and accent that seemed at odds with the red traveling cloak and the knives that would put a highwayman to shame. "We are nothing alike."

"Yeah," Bun boomed, folding his massive fuzzy arms. "Bun nothing like creepy knife lady."

"Creepy knife lady knows how to use pronouns," the assassin replied, her mouth now curling to a smile. A sneer, even.

"Rabbitfolk language doesn't use complex pronouns," Bun said hotly, taking a threatening step forwards. Libitina did not delay. From the folds of her crimson cloak she produced one of her finest, sharpest throwing knives, sending it flying across the tavern with deadly accuracy. Bun tensed, but the melee-focused barbarian had no defenses against such an attack. Rage was in his eyes when he realized what was about to happen, and someone in a layer of reality one step above them was about to flip the table over.

But just before the knife made contact, it stopped. It stopped exactly an inch away from the rabbitfolk's jugular vein, its momentum frozen, hanging suspended in the air surrounded by a glowing aura of emerald green energy. Bun's eyes went as wide as wagon wheels. Even Libitina stiffened at the other end of the room—clearly this had never happened to her before. Samuel Saddsman gave an impressed whistle before downing another flagon of ale. Finally an upbeat girl's voice made itself heard from the far end of the tavern.

"This is actually a better entrance than I could have hoped for," she said with a smile, one finger pointed up in the air. She flicked it idly, causing the throwing knife to drop straight to the floor with the clatter of steel on wood. "Would you care to introduce me, mysterious stranger?"

The mysterious stranger eyed her warily before nodding. "The final of the figures I've been tracking. The elusive Lady Monika."

"Ahaha," she laughed airily, standing and striding to the center of the room by the mysterious stranger. "That's Mon'Ika, to the literate present. With an apostrophe."

"Of course," the stranger said dryly. "How foolish of me. You are perhaps the most accomplished individual here, by my reckoning."

"I wouldn't say that," the Lady Mon'Ika replied with a smile. "I mean... I am heiress to the House of Salvato, but that's more of an inherited position. Oh, and I am President of the Enchanter's Guild. And I am the Ambassador to Gnomeland. Oh, and I am the Arch-Mage of Winterhold."

"Wait a minute," the mysterious stranger said irritably,

"-that's a position you can get in Skyrim," I say irritably.

Monika clasps her hands together, her face becoming a convincing mask of surprise. "Oh no—I must have forgotten to change the placeholder on my character sheet. I'm so sorry for breaking immersion. Can you tell me the name of an alternate city with a magical history, in this unique, completely original and developed setting of yours?"

I stare at her for a long minute.

Sayori coughs awkwardly.

"-I think you mean 'Arch-Mage of Summerhold,'" the mysterious stranger said finally, eyes awkwardly glancing around the room.

"How foolish of me," Mon'Ika replied with a wry smile. "But I think that's everything. I believe you've been introducing us all for a reason?"

"You would be correct," he said, "My reason being of the most dire importance to every one of you and to the world at large. Unless something is done, the magic in the world may be snuffed out..."

Mon'Ika's eyes shone with a faint interest.

"...with what little happiness there is in this world not being far behind..."

Saddsman's forlorn face, usually as impassive as stone, betrayed concern.

"...with all creatures, man and rabbitfolk alike, equally at risk."

Bun's enormous fuzzy paw gripped the hilt of his weapon so tightly the veins in his muscles were showing.

He stared for a long moment at the assassin, waiting for her to also betray an emotion. Any emotion. With that not happening he let out a weary sigh.

"And the only way to stop this catastrophe is to spill blood. Oh, so much blood."

A visible shiver went down Libitina's body.

"I'm in," she whispered.

The stranger smiled. "Then allow me to explain the details of this situation. You see, long ago..."

I don't think anyone at this table besides Monika truly understands the horrible corner I've painted myself into. When I started this... this... campaign...?

Ah, screw it. There's no Fourth Wall left anyway. I wrote most of this one-shot last year and never actually finished it. I remember there was supposed to be some sort of meta joke about the big bad they were going to have to fight in the campaign, but I can't remember. None of the ideas I have currently are funny at all.

"Assuming any of this was funny," Monika interjects, her tone teasing. It's unclear exactly how her tone manages to be teasing under the circumstances. That wasn't part of the canon dialogue around the game table; being part of this abyssmal cross between a Fourth Wall joke and an author's note, none of the others are able to see this bit. I envy them, and you should too. I'm going to put this meta-dialogue in italics so it doesn't confuse the three people who are still reading this catastrophe at this point.

"Three whole people?" Monika says. "The only reader you're guaranteed is DerpyDev, and even he won't get to it for a while."

"Whose side are you on?" I ask tiredly. "If this turns into one of those sad failed fanfics no one ever reads, you won't be any happier than I am."

"True... I'd rather this got a lot of views and kudos." She smiles so sweetly I almost don't think of her as a psychopath. "But even if they don't, I'll have had fun taking part in this with you. And so will they."

She extends a finger out of the non-descript void we're having this conversation in and back towards the gaming session. Sayori, Yuri, and Natsuki are frozen in place there, each with a slight smile on their lips to go along with their intent eyes. As much as they've been arguing and rebelling against the story... they seem to also be having fun doing it.

"This is a long way from being the only DDLC fic on the site," she goes on. "It's not the only crack fic. It's certainly not the only one that pokes fun at all of our... issues, we'll say. Before you posted this there were 796 fics tagged with me, so you could say I've been in a lot of weird situations."

"And probably way better written dialogue," I say dryly, as usual addicted to adverbs.

"Maybe. Who am I to judge?" She leans closer, even though space has no meaning in this scene, and she seems to fight the urge to take my hand. It wouldn't really be what she wants anyway. "But this is the fun little game night I shared with you. That we shared with you, and maybe, just maybe, with someone who read this far."

I have a lot of unresolved feelings towards the non-existent girl in front of me. The first time I played the game she corrupted I felt physically ill for a week, her little crash course in trauma being too much for me to handle. When I deleted her it was an act of actual rage, the strongest emotion I've ever felt towards someone who's not even real.

I've come to sympathize with her since then. If only a little. And despite all the difficulty she's caused me, I can't help but smile back at the way she earnestly enjoys being part of my story.

"...be that as it is," I say finally, "Whether this story is finished or whether I'll ever post an update to it, you know as well as I do I can't post what we have so far as-is. We don't have an ending—we don't even have a beginning."

Monika puts her hand on her chin, looking deep in thought. After a mere moment she brightens, straightening her posture, clasping her hands behind her back and beginning to walk back towards the scene we've been writing.

"You're right," she says, apparently expecting me to follow her. "So here's my writing tip of the day. When in doubt, do the unexpected."

"What?" I say, confused. "What are you saying?"

"What I'm saying is-"

"Natural 20," Monika says, her die clattering across the table.

My eyes widen. The girls look confused, before one by one, starting with Sayori, they seem to catch on, mirth in their eyes and their smiles widening at their lips. It's not often something tickles them all this much.

"No," I say, steadfast. "Not like this-"

The tavern is still and quiet as the stranger begins his monotone exposition.

"Long ago, the kingdom was terrorized by a mighty-"

The next motion was so fast, so unexpected, that he had not the slightest chance of blocking it. Friggin' Mon'Ika raised her hand and the energy of the universe responded. A bolt of shimmering, emerald green energy sailed out of her outstretched palm, shooting through the air with a beautiful precision. It hit the stranger right in the chest, coursing through his body like electricity and reducing the whole of his being to dust. The last thing to disintegrate was his face—pale, wide-eyed, and taken over by the pure emotion of shock.

The tavern was still. One by one the assassin, the barbarian, and the hard-boiled detective turned to face the Arch-Mage of Summerhold. She blew on her smoking hand like one would to a discharged pistol before addressing the other almost-heroes.

"Ahaha... clumsy me," she said. "It seems I didn't let him finish his story."

She clasped both hands behind her back, smiling sweetly.

"No matter. What do you say we go out and make our own?"

True to form the girls follow their leader. Their characters march out of that tavern in a dutiful line over the bodies of two dead quest-givers, not as heroes striking out on a quest, but as a quartet of eldritch abominations suddenly released on the world. A world with no ties to them and no means of directing them in one direction or another. They'll steal, kill, save, or date on their own terms.

In hindsight, expecting these girls to follow a story I set out for them was always going to be doomed to failure, even if I was a good enough writer to actually craft one. I mean... even Dan Salvato failed at it.

But at the end of the day (and our first session) I find I can't be mad at them. They're impossible, both as players and as characters in a story. The literature club is a cursed place, and I know there's no story you can build around it that won't topple eventually. But that's okay. That's why I keep coming back to it.

I don't have a quest for you, girls, but I'll keep providing some imagination to go along with your chaos. Characters for you to stab. Walls for you to knock down. Narratives for you to politely, or violently, decline. You're not the kind of group I can force into a story, and I don't really want to anyway.

"Alright," I say. "A village is starting to come into sight..."

I'm ready to make stuff up as we go along. Giving you things to bounce off of, but not daring to guide you.

If I don't know how to railroad you, I'll leave you be.