The evening was creeping in like a teenager past curfew.
Elsa was still tucked in my lap, her tiny hands working the controller with an intense focus usually reserved for last minute tax filing.
"Hey," I said, watching her little plumber guy hop across the screen, "there’s probably going to be another portal tonight. They’ve been pretty regular lately."
Her character promptly walked straight off a cliff.
She chucked the controller aside with a dramatic huff that rattled the windows.
"Must we think about such tedious things right now?" she complained, twisting around to face me. The cute look in her eyes was absolutely deadly. "I was having such a lovely time vanquishing these creatures."
I raised an eyebrow. "Well, we can’t exactly ignore it. If I don’t deal with whatever comes through, it’ll either wander off the lot looking for a midnight snack or tear up my property. My insurance doesn’t cover monsters. And who knows where it’d go after that."
She slid off my lap with bratty reluctance, then dropped to her knees in front of me.
Her small hands grabbed mine, and she deployed what I was starting to recognize as her "ultimate weapon"—the dreaded and exceedingly frequently utilized puppy-dog eyes.
"Please, Grey Coleman, my handsome, strapping champion," she pleaded, her lower lip achieving Olympic-level poutiness. "Couldn’t you handle the dreadful beast yourself? Just this once? I would be ever so grateful."
"You’re literally a warrior princess," I reminded her, trying not to focus on how she looked kneeling there in skimpy pajamas. "Aren’t you supposed to be some legendary hero? Spellblade of the Hero’s Party?"
She responded with a series of whining noises that would’ve made a spoiled toddler nod in approval.
"Fighting is exhausting!" she moaned, shaking her head so vigorously that her huge braid whipped left and right. "I’m delicate! Refined! These hands were made for holding scepters, not swinging swords!"
I rolled my eyes. "Of all the interdimensional warrior princesses in all the worlds, I get the one with the work ethic of a retired housecat."
Her pout intensified even more.
Then, with a squeaky grunt, she launched herself back into my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck and pressing her forehead against mine as she stared directly in my eyes, like she was afraid I was trying to avoid the bratty face she was making.
"I’m not lazy," she insisted, nuzzling against my cheek. "I’m extraordinarily powerful. Devastatingly mighty. I simply happen to have a stamina issue."
"Happens to a lot of guys, too. What’s that supposed to mean for you, though?" I asked as my arms automatically circled her waist.
She sat up straight, suddenly looking smug. "Allow me to demonstrate the glory of my attributes!"
With a very superfluous flourish, she conjured a floating window—like my status screen, but with more pink, way fancier fonts, and very sparkly borders to her HUD.
PLAYER: Elsa Silverleaf
LEVEL: 35
CLASS: Spellblade
ATTRIBUTES:
• Strength: 14
• Dexterity: 25
• Constitution: 4
• Intelligence: 10
• Wisdom: 18
• Charisma: 20
My jaw dropped. "Your Constitution is FOUR? What the—How do you even function? That’s like having the cardio capacity of a chain-smoking sloth!"
"I prefer to think of myself as uniquely specialized," she sniffed.
She’d put on a smug, closed-eye smile like she was proud, but the disastrously pink cheeks told another tale entirely. "I’m designed for devastating single strikes, not prolonged engagements. Quality over quantity, as they say."
"But you’re supposed to be some legendary hero," I said as I continued trying to process her absurd stats. "How do you handle long fights with endurance that low?"
"That’s what party members are for, silly," she explained with an airy wave. "They handle all the tedious parts—the running, the dodging, the sweating—while I wait for the perfect moment to deliver an elegant finishing blow."
She batted her eyelashes. "I would be ever so grateful if a big strong champion who can do all the hard work while I provide moral support from a safe distance were to step up and do his part."
I sighed. "At least come with me and watch. If things get hairy, you can jump in with one of those devastating strikes you’re talking about."
Her nose wrinkled like she’d just sucked a rotten lemon. "I suppose I must," she conceded with a scrunched up nose. "But if I have to exert even the tiniest amount of effort, you’ll owe me the most thorough pampering session in the history of both our worlds."
"Define ’pampering,’" I said cautiously.
"Oh, the usual," she said, her voice shifting into a tone that was equal parts demanding and sickeningly sweet. "Full body massages, a long hot bath, endless cuddles, hair brushing for no less than one hour, foot rubs, back scratches, and you’ll have to sing me lullabies until I fall asleep."
"I don’t sing," I said flatly.
"You do now," she declared. "Also, breakfast in bed tomorrow. Those pancake things, drowning in that heavenly amber nectar."
I groaned but couldn’t maintain any real irritation in the face of her enthusiasm. "No singing, but fine on breakfast. But you have to actually try to help if things go sideways."
"Marvelous!" She clapped her hands like I’d just agreed to buy her a pony. "Now, assist me with my armor, my devoted servant!"
Twenty minutes later, I was fully geared up while Elsa was still struggling with her platemail bikini, each piece apparently weighing as much as a small car based on her theatrical groaning.
"It’s so heaaavy," she whined, flopping dramatically onto the bed. "How can I possibly be expected to dress myself in these conditions?"
"You managed just fine when you first arrived," I pointed out.
"That was before the dimensional journey sapped my legendary strength," she countered. "I’m practically an invalid now. Barely able to lift my own arms."
With a sigh that could’ve moved a windmill, I knelt to help her with her armor.
As I fastened her boots, I noticed her legs were actually pretty toned.
"There," I said once the last piece clicked into place. "Ready for battle."
She immediately held her arms out like a toddler demanding to be carried. "You can’t possibly expect me to walk all the way to the battlefield."
"It’s a quarter mile, Elsa. You can see it from here."
Her arms remained outstretched, unwavering as stone. Knowing resistance was futile, I scooped her up in what was becoming a very familiar bridal carry.
"You’re absolutely spoiled," I informed her as we headed out.
"I prefer ’deservedly cherished,’" she corrected, snuggling against my chest like she belonged there.
The walk to our monster-greeting spot was going to become routine eventually.
This errand was a bit like fetching the mail, only the mail was usually huge and wanted to kill you.
The weather tonight was nice at least, with a big, full moon on its third and final day of the month.
"Should be right about here," I said, setting her down near where yesterday’s troll had made its dramatic exit.
She immediately claimed a fallen log on the edge of the field like it was a throne. "I shall observe from this strategic position," she announced, arranging herself regally. "Providing tactical insights and moral support from a safe distance."
"How noble of you," I deadpanned as I drew my sword.
Right on cue, the air started doing that unsettling wavy thing that meant something unpleasant was about to make a grand entrance.
The distortion widened, and purple energy crackled around its edges as it stretched into a proper portal much like the ones I’d seen before. But...
"That’s... considerably larger than usual," I noted as my danger sense tingled in the form of goosebumps on my nape.
"Oh my," Elsa said, sounding half-intrigued. "Something substantial approaches. I shall enjoy the show!"
The ground began to tremble, but heavy footfalls reverberated through the earth long before anything was visible. Whatever was coming had serious mass.
"Here comes trouble," I muttered, adjusting my grip.