Waterfront Park-Portland, OR
Heat washed over Colin, obliterating his sight, melting everything as the shield in his grasp melted and conformed to to his arm, the searing heat feeling strangely cold as the weapon in his right hand sagged under the inferno that engulfed him. Colin fell, and strangely enough, he felt the cool, gentle caress of the grass beneath him. That was kind of odd.
Alvin shook his head, raising the paper cup in his left hand as he allowed his gaze to pan over the field. The moment the lip of the cup came to his lips a strange smell reached his nostrils, forcing him to pull back. Taking another whiff, Alvin grimaced as he turned around, looking to his right as he saw the person he was looking for. Behind him, the many LARPers that had partaken of the ‘mead’ that had been created from a concoction that was supposed to be Gatorade and other various mixers were still writhing on the ground.
Some of them were howling as though they’d been gutted, others lay still in what could only be a drug-induced stupor. The bitter smell and taste still tingled on his tongue and in his nostrils as he saw Curtis, the resident drug aficionado, making his way to another of the coolers that was further down the field.
“CURTIS!” Alvin yelled. As Curtis glanced over at him, Alvin saw the other man’s eyes widened as he took running suddenly. With a grimace, Alvin turned back to the field.
“God I hate this game.”