The Webcomic Thief

The waitress took away the remains of Adam's cheese Danish. "Need anything else?" He was dumping cream in his coffee and ignored her.

"We're all set," I said.

She smiled. She had a cute face. "I'll be right back with the check." As she walked away I tried to remember her name - Ashley or Angela - and realized I was staring at her. I turned back to Adam, who resumed his pitch.

"So they're all fantasy characters, like orcs and wizards. And they hang out in this coffee shop talking about RPGs. I call it 7^th Heaven, after that bar in Final Fantasy 7." He added another cream. "So what do you think?"

I sipped my coffee, which was too hot. The shop was getting ready to close. A girl in a black shirt was flipping chairs onto tables. Adam stirred his cup casually.

"It's pretty weak," I said. "People hanging out in a coffee shop is such a cliché."

He kept stirring. "That just means it works. Can you pass the sugar?"

I passed the dispenser, which he took without looking up. His nonchalance irked me, just like his face - pale and elfish with shifty brown eyes.

"Okay, but the premise is too meta. RPG characters talking about RPGs, that's some Charlie Kaufman shit. It'll fly over people's heads."

"Penny Arcade does it." He unscrewed the lid and dumped half the sugar in his cup. "Look, if you don't like the idea, just tell me."

"I thought I did." I smiled limply. "I mean it's not terrible." I sipped again and looked at my watch; my hand was shaking slightly. A guy behind the counter cleaned trays with a white cloth. "It's - okay, do you want to know? It's the setting. It's too bourgeois. A bunch of people in a coffee shop - with class tension at an all-time high people won't like it."

He almost spit out his coffee."Class tension? You're kidding, right? Most RPG fans are objectivists."

I leaned forward. "Exactly. Objectivists hate the bourgeois for whoring themselves to the lower class. And by playing games instead of using their natural fighting skills, these characters aren't seeking their rational self-interest."

He grimaced. "I think you're analyzing this too deeply."

"If you say so." I shrugged and sipped my coffee.

He looked at the table and stroked his goatee. "I guess I could change it to robots."

"Look, keep the fantasy characters. But use a spaceship instead of a coffee shop. And instead of talking about games make them detectives solving space crimes."

"Yeah ...." He looked up. "Like T.J. Hooker meets Spaceballs!" His face beamed like a sunburst gradient.

"There you go." I leaned back in my chair, grinning.

Ashley-Angela reappeared with the check. I reached for it, but Adam grabbed it first.

"Thanks," I said to the waitress, smiling, inventorying all the cute things on her face - dimples, freckles, rosy cheeks, plump lips. I wanted to ask what she was doing after work, but I knew I'd be busy. It would take a few days to retool my comic, change the characters to fantasy designs, draw some coffee-shop backgrounds - everything else from Adam's brilliant pitch - but well worth it. Maybe I could even use "7^th Heaven."

As the waitress walked away, Adam took out his wallet. "I've got this." He unfolded a ten and two ones and placed them on the table. He got up and put on his coat. "I really appreciate your advice. When my comic makes it big, I'll give you mad props." His hand patted my back. "Well, you coming?"

I didn't say anything. The Waitress stood across the room waiting on two guys. One of them - a balding 30something in a tank top - looked at us and said something that made them all laugh. He laid a twenty on the table and him and his friend left.

"Yeah." I grabbed my coat. "Sorry."

– Jedidiah (@notoriousamoeba)