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Message: <blockquote data-quote="tarchon" data-source="post: 978035" data-attributes="member: 5990">Well, I don't do LARP myself, being a table-topper at heart, but I did seesomething last weekend that probably qualifies as a bad LARP experience. There was an article a couple months ago in a local entertainment insert,"Get Out" or something like that, about some Masqueraders that have beenLARPing around over at the Biltmore, kind of a fancy mall/nightspot inPhoenix 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 abit of a lip lock - one of them identified as a 15-year-old.  I expectedthis might cause a bit of a fuss, but fortunately I guess nobody reads itfor anything but the movie schedules.I go over to the Biltmore myself every once in a while since some of myfriends are into hanging around the coffee shops there, and I'd seenankh-wearing goth-punk types around, so I figured those were probably theones in the insert.  Last Friday evening the coffee-shop friends wanted tomeet there since they had some time to kill before some Pink Floyd lightshow that started at midnight.  I'm not real big on Floyd, but I was inthe hanging-out mood, so I went. We were sitting around the coffee place - the other three sucking upvarious exotic coffee concoctions and me with my usual iced tea (with ashot 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 frombystanders without close inspection, but I guessed there must have been ahalf-dozen or so, a smallish group.  Every once in a while, one wouldstalk, prance, or otherwise dramatically disappear down the side malltowards the interior shops, or a new one would boldly stride into thescene from the same direction.  There were undoubtedly others congregatedin a different part of the mercantile labyrinth.Closer to the front patio, with their backs to the LARP troupe was a trioof cool-cat types.  Sunglasses at night, lots of leather (in contrast tothe more vinyl LARPers), cell phone on each pair of hips.  Had to bewaiting for their table at the Planet Hollywood down the block.  They hadtoo much of a moneyed look to be part of the troupe, but you could see howthey might be mistaken for such.  I looked them over a little more and moved on to other tables.  Seatedfarther up toward the front patio were a couple of young guys who reallydidn't belong there, gawky, clean but plainly cut, white button-downshirts, dark slacks, backpacks.  I looked out to the sidewalk.  There theywere - two rather utilitarian bicycles chained to a lamppost.  I glancedback at their table - a lemonade for each.  Crisp, clean, no caffeine.  If you've lived in the Near West, you know what I'm talking about,missionaries.  Rather odd place to see them, but it was an odd crowd.The band had started into a more soul-ish tune, the lead singer'sdreadlocks swaying slowly to the beat.  A few people were dancing.  Myiced-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 wasafter.  Should I shout a warning?  Grimace painfully in anticipation? Just sit and watch?  The other LARPers seem too absorbed in some disputeto notice the imminence of his faux pas.  Then he lunged... right for thetempting 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 ifthe target was part of the group, but this guy didn't really look like hewas completely in phase with things anyway. Even with the shades, you could just about see her eyes bulging from whereI was sitting.  The caped crusader had locked his teeth onto the back ofher neck, along with a good rope of her coarse black hair.  Her screechnearly interrupted the music, but it does take a lot to rattle a barband.  I guess most people just assumed it was some kids messing around.  I remember I was thinking how a real vampire would have had the sense atleast to bite towards the front of the neck where the carotid and jugularare accessible.  Comically, to my surprise, that was exactly what thewoman did in response.She twisted around like a stream of quicksilver, clamping onto theassailant's caped throat in the same motion.  She was not particularlytall, as well as pale and slight, rather Winona-Ryder-esque to name thecelebrity of nearest resemblance.  Her two male companions were takenaback, their expensive earrings swaying beneath immaculately featheredhairstyles as their heads turned.  The white-shirt-duo at the next tablewere nonchalant about the unfolding drama though.  They must have beenwaiting for something to happen; no one goes there for the lemonade.At this point, the rest of the LARPers had ceased excitedly making oddgestures at one another and were beginning to take in what was happening.  Plastic fangs hung agape.On the other side of the incident, the white-shirts were hurriedlyextracting various items from their cheap polyester backpacks, whichthey'd earlier stowed beneath the table.The fellow in the cape squirmed on the ground gurgling as the pale womanbit into his cervical region.  The two men with her, one a tallbrown-haired anglo and the other a short but trim hispanic, looked at eachother in confusion and then started trying to pull her off.  From myvantage, I couldn't hear what was being said, but the tall one hissedsomething at the other, who then abandoned the dragging effort andsprinted for the parking lot.The tall man's efforts became even more futile when the white-shirts piledon him from behind.  He tossed one off, but the other thrust a large andevidently heavy silver crucifix into his face, impacting the man'swell-proportioned nose in the process.  He bent over in pain, clutchinghis face.  The other white-shirt had by then recovered and was succeedingsomewhat at separating the two on the ground with the help of a similarlylarge and heavy silver cross, which he applied as a prybar.  Several ofthe LARP troupe had also joined in and in concert, they finally pulled heraway, along with a fair bit of blood and various of cape-boy's tissues.  The woman stumbled backward and the first white-shirt pinned her down,thrusting his crucifix towards her face, which she evidently foundobjectionable, as she squirmed in response and forced his arms back withher hands.  The second white-shirt was worriedly waving his cross atvarious fanged LARP participants who seemed to be equally leery of him.White-shirt #1 and the counter-neck-biting woman seemed to have reached astalemate until an odd grin came over her face.  Attempting to ward himoff with one hand, she reached down with the other and flipped up herloose shirt.  A look of shock came over the gangling white-shirt and hereflexively averted his eyes.  It was just enough distraction that shecould kick her knee up into his groin.  His whole body clenched and hecurled over.  She slid back lithely, stumbled up, and grabbed hercompanion, who was still bent over holding his nose, from which blackblood trickled.  The caped LARPer lay on the ground in a similar state.The white-shirt who was still standing looked desperate.  A few of thetroupe had sneaked around him and were tending their fallen comrade, whoseemed to be sobbing at this point.  On the other side of him, the womanwas stepping backward towards the parking lot.  She was propping up hercompanion and oddly hissing back at the whole lot of them though a set ofwhat were, given the state of modern corrective orthodontics, unusuallyjagged teeth.Momentarily, her second companion pulled up in a tricked-out Shelby Cobraand flung open the passenger door.  The two dove in as best they could,and the car sped through the parking area as various pedestrians sprungout of the way."Man," one of my companions remarked as it disappered around the corner,"did you get a load of that '65?""Wicked," I replied.The white-shirts had apparently settled on a similar course of action.  The uninjured one quickly unlocked the bicycles from the lamppost.  He hadlittle trouble mounting and making his escape, though the other winced inpain throughout the entire operation.  It was an uninspiring getaway, butno one seemed particularly interested in pursuing.  Indeed, surprisinglylittle notice had been taken of the entire skirmish on the side mall.The LARPers seemed more embarrassed than anything.  The band had finallytaken a quick break, so many of the coffee sippers had now turned theirfull attention to the hubbub behind them.  Sheepishly, the LARPers helpedup their disconsolate caped friend, whose bleeding had mostly stopped bythat point; I suppose she hadn't gotten too deep into his fleshy neck.  Then the troupe slowly faded back into the depths of the mall.Of course, the mall cops showed up about fifteen minutes later to checkout the alleged disturbance, but they saw nothing and did even less.  Aswe were leaving, I passed by the table where the cross-waving white-shirtshad 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 incheslong or so.  Stenciled on the blunt end were a stylized beehive and theinexplicable phrase:  "Camelback Stake."</blockquote>

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