Just as he was about to replace the brush in its display case, Stanley heard the stomp-stomp of heavy boots and a gruff voice shout throughout the building. "Who's in here? This place is closed. If I find anybody in here, they're in serious trouble!"
Shoving the brush into his pocket, Stanley turned and ran, thankful to find the rain had abated as he left the building.
The college roleplay society held court every week in the stockroom above a local tabletop emporium. Stanley arrived to find four members already there, though it wasn't unusual for players to just drop in half-way through a session.
"He arrives! We were starting to think you'd been eaten by a gazebo," Derrick smiled as Stanley stepped through the door. Derrick was a mature student - a ferocious neckbeard-on-legs fond of World War era fashion. He was on his third ale of the night.
"The younglings were starting to get restless," Gregg added, exhaling a cloud of nicotine vapour from his electronic pipe with a satisfied air. Gregg was tall and gangly, with greasy hair pulled back into ponytail. He was a fan of trilby and goatees.
"Yeah, if you guys could not smoke and drink in front of the younglings, that'd be great," Stanley muttered, dropping his moist dungeon master material on the table.
The youngsters in question were Steve and Todd, two hyperactive young teens who were a royal pain in Stanley's behind. They were far too exuberant, frequently interrupting him or derailing his intricately crafted plotlines - when Stanley wasn't trying to calm them down, he was usually attempting to shield them from the ribald jokes and behaviours of the elder members of the group.
Stanley sat down with squelch. He groaned as black goo oozed out of his jeans. He'd forgotten all about the brush. He lifted the sticky thing out of his pocket and laid it out on the tabletop. Then he carefully began to peel apart the moist character sheets, handing them to each player. "Okay, Derrick, I believe last week your character had been turned to stone, and was on trial for murder of Lord Archibald. Gregg, you were..."
With a clatter, Todd and Steve upended their toolkit of wargaming figurines together, as if on cue, scattering little plastic Space Marines across the tabletop and over the character sheets. Stanley ground his teeth. "Todd, Steve, what are you doing?"
"Painting our minis! I just got an Eldar set!"
Stanley felt like strangling them both. "Guys, we're playing D&D now, can it not wait?"
"I've got a tournament tomorrow!" Steve wailed, popping open cartons of paint. He began to paint his miniatures, a platoon of Space Marines.
"Agh, fine," Stanley groaned, determined to soldier on. As he laid out the setting and refreshed their memories of last week's events, he didn't notice as Todd's hand snuck out and snatched the Rubber Brush. Todd leaned close to the desk, his eyes focused intently on the tiny, grey, plastic Eldar figurine as he pressed the tip of the brush against it.
Stanley finally finished his intro. "Okay, so if we're all ready... Gregg, you awaken in a dank-"
"STANLEY! STANLEY! MY FIGS! IT'S WRECKING MY FIGS!"
The group turned to the end of the table, where Steve had fallen off his chair and was pointing a shaking finger at the figurines on the table. The tiny plastic Eldar was racing across the table, swinging its sword left and right, slicing the inanimate Space Marines into plastic giblets. The pipe dropped from Gregg's slack-jawed mouth. They watched stunned as it lifted a scout unit high above its head before snapping it in half over its knee.
"Wowee, real magic!" Todd exclaimed, grabbing one of the Space Marines and daubing it with the Rubber Brush. It came alive at once, wrestling with the Eldar in a minute struggle to the death.
And then, before anybody could stop him, Todd turned the brush on himself. The liquid latex ran over his body, wriggling out tendrils and engulfing him like a living thing. In a moment, his entire body was covered with the goop.
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