All the Feels Page 14
A twinge of anxiety filled her chest, but Liv forced her smile to stay.
“And after that?”
“After that we go find the Spartan coven and find out just how Internet famous you really are.”
* * *
A trio of steampunk characters were waiting on the red couches when Xander and Liv arrived back at the Marriott. Two of them were women—one short and young, one tall and middle-aged—fully dressed in corsets, brocade, and elegantly laced footwear. Their companion was a young man wearing a bowler hat, goggles, and a stuffy-looking plaid suit with what appeared to be a jet pack attached to it. A faint trail of smoke from an exhaust tube rose to the balcony above. In avid discussion, the trio unfolded themselves from the couch, standing as Xander and Liv approached. Too many people filled the Marriott, and the room was stuffy with bodies, though Liv swore the temperature dropped a few degrees when they caught sight of her.
Xander gave a bow far more formal than the one he’d given the volunteer at the Sheraton ballroom.
“Greetings, everyone,” Xander said. “May I introduce the illustrious Liv Walden, known far and wide as LivOutLoud of the Starveil fandom.” He swung his arm back to include her. “She’s the unexpected guest I texted you about.”
“Hi,” Liv said, giving the group a nervous wave.
The older woman nodded stiffly. The younger stared at Liv in concern. “But what happened to Arden?”
“Arden and I are no longer an item,” Xander said. “Haven’t been for some time.”
“Oh!’
The man cleared his throat and touched the brim of his hat. “Charmed, m’lady. I’m Mario Torres.”
“Mario,” Liv repeated.
Xander gestured to his friends. “Liv, this is Emma.” The tall, willowy woman inclined her head at the introduction. “And this is also Emma.” The short young woman gave a shy smile. “Mario is the younger Emma’s elder brother, even though I personally think Mario looks a little more like the other Emma. She’s my cousin. The other Emma is staying with friends on the twentieth floor.”
Liv’s mind swirled to keep up with the introductions. “The other Emma?”
“I’m actually Xander’s second cousin,” she explained. “But not to worry. We’re all friends.”
The shorter of the two Emmas stepped forward and offered her hand.
“So is it true?” she asked hesitantly.
“Is what true?” Liv glanced at Xander, but he was busy rearranging the tucks of his shirt. Her gaze returned to the younger of the two women.
“That you’re the secret force behind Spartan Survived.”
Liv grinned. “You follow Starveil, too?”
“It’s my first fandom,” Emma sighed. “I love it so much!”
And with that, the ice was broken.
Liv had made it to Dragon Con. She had people to stay with and money in her pocket. Now all she needed to do was meet Spartan and she could die happy.
* * *
The Thursday-night party was the biggest event Liv had ever attended. The crowd moved like a choppy ocean, the mass of con-goers rolling over and around the multi-tiered atrium level of the Marriott. People in cosplay were the norm, not the exception, and Liv’s “Only One Man Calls Me Darlin’” T-shirt seemed a weak substitute. Liv stared as she passed a full-size TARDIS (with the ninth doctor inside) chatting with a yellow-suited Walter White.
“I can’t believe how many people there are,” Liv shouted, voice pitched above the pulse of music that filled the room.
“You wait until tomorrow,” Xander said. “Thursday is barely the start of the party. Only half are here so far.”
“Half?!”
A woman dressed as Tekla—Spartan’s kick-ass love interest—strolled past, and Liv’s mouth fell open. Her Rebel uniform and boots, the locator on her belt, and headset communicator in her ear were so perfect they looked like they’d been lifted off a movie set. Maybe, Liv thought, they had.
“Where will everyone go if there’re twice as many?”
“They go here.” Xander chuckled. “It just means less open space.” He nodded to the woman in Tekla cosplay. “Told you you should have made a costume. You could have rocked that outfit.”
“I never could have pulled it off.”
“You’d look amazing,” he said. “You’ll have to start believing me someday.”
“Someday, but not today,” Liv said with a nervous laugh.
“Ouch! I only speak the truth, dearest.”
Liv sighed. “Fine, fine. I believe you for most things, just not this.”
“You could pull it off.”
“Doubtful, but you’re good for my ego. Something that tight just isn’t for me.”
“Pity,” Xander drawled, giving her a slow once-over. “You’d put that woman to shame.”
Cheeks burning, Liv turned to watch the woman head into the crowd, giving Xander her profile. “If only I had my own seamstress,” Liv sighed. She peeked back at him. “Someone who I could blackmail into making cosplay for me.”
Xander stepped nearer as a congo line made of Greek soldiers danced past. “I can’t sew, but any time you need an assistant, I’m there.”
Liv grinned. “I know. I just like to bug you.”
From somewhere above them, she heard a voice shout: “Liv! LIV! Liv out loud!” She looked up, half-expecting it was someone who liked the Émile Zola quote as much as she did. Instead, she caught sight of a group of women of all different ages, many dressed in Starveil apparel and fandom T-shirts. They waved to her from the second-floor balcony.
“Liv! I knew that had to be you!” The woman’s shining face was its own answer. “Your avatar,” she bellowed. “I’m Joanne—JoesWoes! C’mon up and…” Joe’s face went white. “Holy SHIT! That’s Malloy, Liv!” she shrieked. “The actor who plays Major Malloy is standing RIGHT BEHIND YOU!”
Liv turned around to find Xander fading into the crowd.
“Xander?”
He looked back over his shoulder. “These are your friends, dearest,” he said with a laugh. “Go chill with them. I’m going to scope out the rest of the action.”
“But I don’t…”
He was already too far away to hear, and she didn’t feel like yelling that she didn’t want to be alone, that crowds like this terrified her. Her chance was gone, Xander already a blur of lacy cuffs and brightly colored coat in the surging crowd.
“Text me!” Liv shouted.
Xander didn’t answer.
* * *
The coven was nothing like Liv had expected. Joanne was in her late thirties or early forties, with a helmet of wavy auburn hair and the build of a football player gone to fat. She rushed forward the moment Liv neared the crowd of Starveil fans.
“Liv!” she screamed. “I told Brian it was you, but he wouldn’t believe me!”
Liv found herself trapped in a crushing bear hug.
“Joanne?” Liv laughed as she attempted to extricate herself from the woman’s beefy arms. “It’s so weird to actually meet you.”
JoesWoes let go and grinned. Liv’s first impression was shock: the woman was old enough to be her mother. That revelation, followed by the embarrassing thought that Joanne wrote fan-fic in her spare time, left Liv struggling for words. It made sense, of course. Joe had been in the Spartan fandom since Starveil’s earliest days, which meant she had to be old enough to write when Liv had only been a child. It just hurt Liv’s brain to reconcile the JoesWoes she always thought of as a teen with the matronly woman dressed in a long maxi skirt and faded Starveil Four sweatshirt.
“I’m so glad you came along!” Joe said. “I thought you might back out last second, but you made it!” She grabbed Liv’s hand and dragged her into the center of a diverse group of people. Their one connecting feature was the Starveil clothing and cosplay. “Listen up, everyone,” she announced in a schoolmarm’s voice. “This here is Liv. You know her as LivOutLoud. I told you she’d come!”
Liv opened her mou
th to respond, but Joe didn’t give her any leeway to talk.
“Now, this is Kelly,” she said, pointing to a dainty young woman—possibly in her late teens or early twenties—with a wide smile and elfin features. “And this is Brian. StarVeilBrian1981, that is.” She gestured to a thin, prematurely balding man, standing awkwardly at the side. He stared down at his feet, ignoring Liv altogether. “And this is Leah, and Denise, and Beth. Over there is Maria, and then Ivy, Jenna, Molly, Alicia, Isabel, Dale, Sherry…” The names ran together.
Unlike Xander’s standoffish roommates, the Starveil fandom was bound together by an intense love of the films and a furious hatred of Spartan’s demise. This anger was centered directly on Mike R. Miles, whom the fans held personally responsible for the character’s death. Minutes after Liv’s arrival, the group was chatting avidly as everyone shared his or her own stories of losing Spartan, and then finding him again through the Spartan Survived hashtag. Liv realized what she’d sensed all along: She’d been right not to take the credit. For one, she hated being in the spotlight, but more important, seeing it unfold before her felt like getting an insider’s view into what her small idea had wrought. The fans had hope and anticipation, passion and focus. Spartan, the survivor of the Elysium, wasn’t just a character, he had become real to them. A private smile grew on Liv’s lips. She had created that. Their joy was because of her action. It was her gift to them.
Liv’s phone buzzed, and she looked down.
She glanced up, peering around the teeming room. There were too many bodies to count, but somehow she found Xander across the open space between the circular balconies. His cravat was loose, his jacket hanging open, like a dissolute aristocrat from Les Liaisons Dangereuse. Their eyes met, and he grinned, the distance disappearing. Liv lifted her phone and tapped a reply:
11
“INCONCEIVABLE!”
(THE PRINCESS BRIDE)
Liv could barely remember how she and Xander made it back to the overcapacity hotel room, but on Friday morning she was in bed alone, the room suffused with morning light. Liv squinted over at the second bed, where Mario and Emma slept, a line of pillows forming a wall between them. She turned the other direction, searching. Where had Xander gone? She looked down at the carpet and grinned. What appeared to be a pile of clothes was actually Xander, asleep in a heap of discarded clothing. He still wore his cosplay, one silver-buckled shoe on, the other dropped near the door, hand outstretched as if caught up in one final court bow. Seeing him, the late-night argument returned. In some strange sense of gallantry, Xander had insisted on giving the entire bed to her.
Liv’s smile grew as she remembered the hours of partying. It was ten times what the CU Mixer had been; every person in the Marriott was a fellow nerd, and that fact made all the difference. Even so, Xander swore Thursday’s party was nothing compared with Friday and Saturday’s. Dragon Con was a celebration on a scale she couldn’t imagine. Sleep was optional. Somewhere in the hotel, doors were opening and closing, the shower running in the room above. Liv slid her feet out of bed.
She groaned as the night caught up with her.
Fighting the urge to crawl back under the covers, she staggered to the bathroom, spending half an hour trying to scrub the taste of late-night nachos from her mouth. On any regular day, she’d wear the first thing she found in her closet, but today it mattered. In a few hours, Spartan would be in a large ballroom dubbed the “Walk of Fame.” Liv knew there’d be a crowd waiting to see him, and she intended to be one of the first people in line. With shaky hands, Liv applied makeup and dressed in her nicest jeans and a black T-shirt she hoped distracted from her chest. She ran a comb through still-damp hair and winced. She looked plain, boring; the same old Liv as any other day. She sighed.
It would have to do.
Sneaking from the room was easy. No one stirred, though Xander did pull a pink crinoline over his head as she tiptoed past. Liv headed downstairs, fighting the queasy lurch of her stomach as the elevator plummeted nine floors. The Marriott was busy by any normal standard, though it was barely a tenth of the previous night’s crowd. Liv grabbed a coffee from Starbucks and on a whim ordered three others, begging the server behind the counter for a bagful of creamers and sugar packets. It was her best decision of the day.
When Liv returned to the room, the coffees became an instant “thank you” for the hospitality. With grateful sighs, Emma and Mario pulled Liv into their conversation, talking about the panels they planned to attend and inviting her to the Steampunk Ball on Saturday night. When the crowd headed off to see a panel on the history of H. G. Wells, Mary Shelley, and Jules Verne, Liv checked her teeth in the bathroom mirror and dabbed her sweaty face. Now that the time had arrived, her stomach was tied in knots. She took slow breaths and wiped the back of her neck with a cold facecloth.
“Liv?” Xander called.
“Yeah.”
“You want to go down to the vendor room before we get in line for the Firefly panel?”
She tossed the cloth into the bottom of the tub and opened the door. Xander lounged on the bed, one foot balanced on the other knee. He wore a puff of crimson silk at his throat, a tightly fitted waistcoat, and the brocade tailcoat that Liv had helped him sew the winter before. Liv was already sweating in her T-shirt and jeans; she had no idea how Xander wasn’t drenched.
“The Firefly panel isn’t until two, right?” Liv asked.
Xander looked up. “True. But I want to be in line early.”
“You go ahead. I’ll catch up.”
Xander frowned. “You okay?”
“I am,” she said with a nervous laugh. “It’s just that Spartan—”
“Tom Grander, you mean.”
“Right. Tom Grander’s down on the Walk of Fame in”—she checked her phone—“an hour.” Her stomach did a somersault, and she took a shaky breath. “I—I want to be down there with plenty of time to spare.”
“Do you want to grab something to eat before we go?”
“Not a chance,” Liv said. “I’ll probably throw up if I do.”
Xander’s face broke into a roguish grin. “Do you promise if you spew, it’ll be on Tom Grander?”
“Stop it, Xander.” She grabbed her Dragon Con pass off the side table and looped the lanyard over her head.
“You look very attractive, by the way,” he said. “I do hope Mr. Grander appreciates the effort.”
Liv blushed and turned away. “I doubt he’ll even notice I exist.”
“You sure? I mean, you’re part of the reason his popularity’s soaring. That has to count for something—even if the person it’s helping is Tom Grander.” With a catlike stretch, Xander stood from the bed, straightening his clothes and sliding on his shoes. “Now, if you are done with your toilette, we should probably get going. It’ll take us a bit to get through the crowds, and if you want to line up early, I’d rather it didn’t take us all day to get to the Walk of Fame.”
Liv stared at him for several seconds. “But I thought you wanted to line up for Firefly,” she said. “You’ll miss it if you come with me.”
Xander gave a one-shoulder shrug, already heading to the door. “I want to hang out with you at Dragon Con. Everything else is just icing on the cake.”
* * *
The line to see Tom Grander moved a foot at a time, taking them toward a table where the actor sat, shaking hands. He was a little shorter than the towering height Liv had expected from his role in Starveil, though she’d heard movies did that to people. But average height or not, Tom’s face was even more perfect in person. Film did not do him justice. He had high cheekbones, a straight nose pert enough to be pretty, a lantern jaw darkened with the perfect amount of morning stubble, and an arching bow of lips, which curled into a toothy grin at the slightest provocation. Liv felt giddy just being near enough to see him with her own eyes, to share the same air as went into his lungs. The woman in front of her sighed, and Liv caught her eyes, the two women grinning in unspoken understanding.
“If you throw up on him, I am going to record it,” he said, tapping through the phone’s apps. “Don’t think I won’t, Liv.”
The line moved forward another step, and Liv felt the blood drain from her face. “You’re awful, Xander. A real friend would cover for me so I could escape. Recording it would be just plain mean.”
Xander put a hand to his heart. “You wound me, dearest. I’m standing in line with you, aren’t I?”
She glared at him. “No one made you be here. You can leave anytime.”
“Ah, but I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” He chuckled.
Liv couldn’t tell if he was joking, but the truth was, she was glad he was here. She had a feeling she might clam up and become mute in Tom’s presence. Before she could think about it too much, the line moved again, and then there was only one person between her and Tom Grander.
“Breathe, Liv,” Xander said quietly.
She pressed her lids closed, sucking air in through her nose and pushing it out through her mouth like a fish out of water. The room seemed to spin around her, and she caught hold of Xander’s arm for support.
“Do you need smelling salts?”
She blinked. The hall reappeared in all its blinding clarity. “You have smelling salts with you?”
“Yes, actually, I do.” He pulled a small apothecary’s bottle from an inside pocket. “Never attend con without them.”
For some reason, this tiny detail—Xander’s noticing that she felt sick and having smelling salts to deal with it—suddenly seemed the most endearing thing in the world.