Random Reality

[Kermit]

The door opened and oh boy were things getting tropical in here or what? Phillip looked like he had half the damn Amazon Rainforest glued to his chest. Eh, it was still more fashionable than the clothes half of school wore (how many chartreuse jumpsuits can one school have?), it'd be passable in like, an ironic "wow look at me I have low self-esteem please laugh at how goofy I am" way. Michael was wearing a blue polo shirt under a light gray hoodie, plus joggers (the pants, not the shoes.), so he wasn't exactly one to judge. He looked like the most basic of the (male) basic bitches.

Phillip greeted Michael in a way that seriously reminded Michael of the ad-agency guy from Attack of the Killer Tomatoes. Michael smiled with his mouth closed and nodded in the way you do when you're not all that interested in a conversation but don't want to be rude, and gave a short "Hi." in response. He stepped inside the apartment, glancing around to see if Beryl was there.


Well fuck Beryl wasn't there, but at least the other two were. It'd be awkward as fuck if it were just Phillip and Michael alone. His eyes glanced over the two non-Phillip-or-Michael denizens of the apartment. One was... Kaleb? Maybe not Kaleb but something else from the Bible with interchangeable Cs and Ks, and the other was OH IT WAS BUZZCUT GIRL! Ophelia. Her name was easy to remember because she was distinctive - same deal as with that blue guy Jeremiah and the person with all the wigs or like basically most people at GHH.

Phillip wasn't wearing any shoes, and Michael couldn't see CKaleb or Ophelia's feet. He also couldn't see any shoes near the door, but that didn't mean they weren't like, somewhere else. He looked back over to Phillip.

"Should I take off my shoes, or..."

He didn't see the need to finish his question.

[Cicada]

had nothing on it because it wasn't on

(not the entry tag)

Beryl thought it was a pretty house, it was cozy, it was unique.

She sort of meandered along from the previous street. And she didn't know where she was, but she'd wandered around the town some. She was beat.

She'd taken note of particularly picturesque alleyways via her currently inert phone. And that was maybe relevant, didn't she know? No, she was pretty sure she didn't know.

Beryl silently materialized out of the inkiness of the night that lurked beyond porch lights. A fraction of a second later, she'd gently skipped the rest of the way to the door.

A blip, she was just a blip. She tended to evade radar unless she was busily drawing attention to herself by saying weird words or passing out in the middle of class, so on.

"Hi Phillip, hi Michael.. I like the threads." The subject was vague, her gaze the same. Her clothes, dreary as rain. Black top onto black jeans. Imaginative only in the assortment of necklaces, each vanishing below her neckline. Stones, raindrops, felt.

She stepped inside and waved at Lucas and Ophelia.

And she took off her shoes, preemptively.

[MurderWeasel]

Beryl slipped in from somewhere or other, strolling right on through the door like she belonged, which Phillip was going to assume she did. He was having this recollection now, like "Beryl" was a name that was right there at the front of his mind, making him think maybe someone had mentioned her coming explicitly and it had just fallen from his attention. And hey, even if he was wrong and Beryl was just turning up blown in on some mysterious wind, that was alright. That was in the spirit of things, and Phillip at least had a pretty good idea who Beryl was. He thought she was kind of weird, but weird wasn't bad. Weird was, in fact, usually good, and today was with any luck going to be harnessing some powerful weirdness.

The newly arrived girl was also the tallest person in the place, by a decent margin, and the only one who didn't look like a twig. If they ended up doing anything physical, Phillip thought Beryl could take point. He'd never really appreciated how she stood out on a physical level before, because honestly a lot of the girls in class were at least as tall as Phillip and even a bunch of the shorter ones were more athletic. Today's assembly was the skinny geek squad, though, which cast the contrast into greater focus.

"Thanks, and welcome," Phillip said, smiling at the girl. "And you can ditch 'em or keep 'em," he added, gesturing to Michael's shoes and then vaguely to a spot on the floor by where Beryl had put hers. "I don't care."

He closed the door behind Beryl, and set out down the hallway again. He probably should've given the spiel about the bathroom and the pizza plan and all that again too, but he'd just said it and figured he'd bring it up as it became relevant, or else while everyone was exchanging greetings.

"Lucas and Ophelia are already here," he said, "so I think that's everyone. Right?"

The question was directed at Michael, because, okay, Phillip still wasn't completely convinced that Beryl was their intended final guest. As he spoke, he gestured the pair along, getting everyone in the same place and hopefully comfortable.

"You can have some apples and peanut butter," he added. "And if we're all ready, we can talk moral codes and take the oath."

[MethodicalSlacker]

"He's a sort of friend, a bit more of an acquaintance," he prattled on, oblivious to Ophelia's new (new?) coldness towards him, "But he's a really swell guy. A little out there, but he's all sorts of nice. And Beryl, for the record, is nice too. I don't think I've ever seen the two of them together, but the more I think about it the more sense it makes."

And now, look! Speak of the devil and she shall appear! Beryl happened to show up as the door was open, and made her own forceful entrance on her own terms. Great timing, as Phillip noted. Now, it was time to get the game all set up. Lucas cracked his knuckles and leaned back on the sofa, watching the doorway for others to make their way into the room.

If Phillip hadn't left anything out during his explanation of the game, once everyone was settled, they'd lay out their individual terms of conditions, so to speak; what each one of them was comfortable with during the game's proceedings. Afterwards, they'd all pledge to stick with whatever result the game gave them for at least one hour, though Lucas intended on sticking with it for as long as it took to complete, personally. Then, by the roll of several six sided dice, one per player, they'd decide who had the honor of rolling the boulder to determine their quest for the day. But maybe they'd manage to get through more than one? The possibilities were endless. Phillip had told him, some time ago, that there were a few quests, hidden by consecutive rolls of the number 30, that took lifetimes to accomplish, and others that were seemingly impossible. Were they to roll one of those...

Nah. That probably wouldn't happen, right? The chances of that happening were very, very small. It was more likely that they'd wind up having to go outside and visit a bookstore than that they'd have to solve the riddle of the pyramids. The possibility drifted out of his concentration.

Either way, it was time to get the show on the road, already. He eyed the game book excitedly, hungrily.

[Melusine]

These people weren't strangers to Lucas. They weren't unknown faces to Ophelia either, she was calmly adjusting to the situation. While she was somewhere she's never been before with strangers she had seen in the past, but at least she had Lucas. She looked at the boy, at least he was there, without him she'd be lost. Well, without him, she'd be comfortable at home and she wouldn't be in this situation. That was the situation, and it's not like she could escape it without committing social suicide, well an even bigger one than she did.

She raised her right hand and waved at the pair that recently entered. Beryl and Michael. She wasn't really sure how to address them. She didn't want them to think she was weird, but here she was, being a weirdo as usual. She felt like that was a trait she should embrace, something she should use to raise herself up from the ashes she made, but she didn't want to. She didn't care about the faces she saw in high school, about the kids that walked around her to class, she wanted to graduate and be out of there.

She realized that as she waved, she wasn't smiling so her lips cracked open, squinting softly her eyes. She hoped she didn't look scary, that she looked inviting. She didn't want them to run off, that would make Lucas sad. Ophelia knew she vaguely cared about Lucas, she didn't dislike him or anything, so that was better than most people she knew from school. People fell on three seperate categories: disliked, indifferent, and Lucas. Ophelia wished she had a proper name for the "Lucas" category, but it wasn't something she was able to make up on the spot. The closest thing that was in her mind to qualify Lucas was a "friendly acquaintance".

Her eyes looked around the room. Ophelia was okay with spending the afternoon with these people if she had Lucas. If anything, she could cling to Lucas like a lifesaver. If she held to him tight enough, she wouldn't drown from this afternoon in the flood of people. She, without thinking, started to edge toward Lucas. He was her shield, he was going to take bullets for her. She hoped nobody bring a gun because Ophelia didn't even bring a knife. Her voice cracked softly as it echoed in the room, as she heard her own voice, she wondered why she was here.

"That's all of us?"

[Kermit]

Beryl did what Beryl tended to do, and materialized out of thin fucking air. Well at least she was here now.

Phillip said it didn't matter whether or not Michael kept his shoes on, so Michael decided to keep his shoes on. It'd be easier to run away with shoes on as opposed to without. Everyone asked if the group was still waiting on someone.

"I guess." Michael replied.

It was time to get inducted into a cult and/or clown gang.

[Cicada]

And everybody was everybody. They glanced her way and smiled her way, and Beryl gently returned the favor.

A smile onto Philip, and a smile onto Lucas, and a smile onto Ophelia.

She just stared at Michael. Oh, she still smiled, but it focused in a wayward direction.

For a moment longer she stared, then her stare abated. Still, she smiled.

There was an apple yet unpaired to a peanut butter. A peanut butter, the abstract unit of an amount of chunky smooth spread slathered onto a wedge of apple. She acquired such an abstract unit and twirled it between her fingers. Spin, whirl. Speed of her knuckles, lazy drift of her eyes.

Lazy smiles all around. Room all around, herself off-center of the middle.

Crunch. The apple was good. Fresh, juicy. Beryl's chewing was slow, continental drift.

"That is all of us."

She was confident, though, she didn't know.

[MurderWeasel]

"Sweet," Phillip said, once it was agreed that everyone was present. He'd sort of told Lucas how this went, and Michael too maybe (he couldn't quite remember) and he thought the boys had hopefully conveyed the gist, but there was no time like the present for some brushing-up.

"Okay, so basically how this goes is we're all going to swear an oath to follow whatever activity the whims of fate and the dice dictate for us, for a span or at least an hour or until we, you know, succeed at the task we're given. If it's something, well, repugnant and offensive to your morals, then we decide again, like if the list says everyone takes LSD and streaks down the street and you're not okay with that, then we reroll, or like if it says we eat spiders and you're an arachnophobe."

As he spoke, he settled down by the coffee table, across from the couch, dragging a stool over to perch upon. He also reached into his pocket and pulled out five six-sided dice, liberated from Monopoly and Risk. Phillip doubted their absence would be noticed anytime soon, since those games were more or less the opposite of this one, that is to say so boring they violated the Geneva Convention.

"We'll randomly determine who's running this show—statistically it'll probably be one of you, so I hope you're feeling ready—and whoever gets it gets to roll the boulder. We get there by rolling all these dice and adding them up, each in turn, and whoever gets the lowest is out of hosting contention, and then we do it again and again with each person out taking a die with them until we've just got one person left. I'll start so you get the idea. Just, you know, everyone gather around the table."

Phillip scooted the platter of apples and peanut butter to the side some, so there was room for the dice not to go absolutely all over the place. He shook them in his cupped hands, holding them up to his ears to hear the rattling, then paused for a sec.

"Wait," he said, "almost forgot. I hereby swear on pain of all sorts of bad cosmic shit coming down from the heavens and blasting with me with enough horrible karma that I'll reincarnate as a dung beetle or something that I'll carry out the quest we get for at least an hour to the best of my ability, unless for some reason we gotta reroll it in which case we'll do the new one instead."

That done, Phillip let the dice scatter. When they came to a stop, he counted: a pair of twos, a pair of threes, and a four, totaling fourteen. That was below average, but so it went. He gathered the dice back up and held them out for the next lucky contestant.

[MethodicalSlacker]

The others filed into the room, and confirmed that this was indeed the remainder of those summoned to the household. Lucas hadn't really been suspecting that others would arrive besides Michael and Beryl, but the possibility had technically remained open nonetheless. It was still welcome news, however, to know that the party would remain at five. Any more than that, and Lucas might start feeling a little uncomfortable. He could tell by her shifting that Ophelia was possibly already past that threshold. Michael was a little all over the place, as usual, and Phillip was doing fine as a host. Beryl was being...well, she hadn't really been there long enough to get a solid lead on, so he put her down in his brain as a "mentally present." Better than he could say for some of his other peers outside of this inner circle; that much was certain.

Phillip explained the turn order proceedings and went on to roll the dice himself, but not before stating some weird oath beforehand. There wasn't any chance that Lucas would recite what Phillip just said—or that he'd even remember it, to be honest—but he got the feeling that, when the time came, he'd have to say something. Phillip's roll was low enough that his exclusion from the next go-around of rolls seemed fairly likely. In any case, the dice were handed off to Lucas, and any perceived preparation time he'd have for his pledge was gone. Out the window, just like that. He took the dice, careful not to let any of his disappointment show on his face, and looked at them for a few seconds before speaking.

"I hereby pledge," he said, his willpower previously used to suppress disappointment now being used to suppress a smile, "that I will keep up whatever quest I receive for at least an hour, or to its natural conclusion, whichever comes first, or else you all have permission to kick me in the balls once per foot."

With that said, he rolled the dice. A pair of snake eyes met his own first, followed by a couple of fives, and a three. That totaled up to fifteen, meaning that, at the very least, he'd advance on to the next round of roll-permission granting.

"Nice," he muttered, gathering the dice up in his hands and holding them out towards Ophelia.

[Melusine]

It was her turn. Ophelia followed the conversation but she wasn't really sure what to say for her pledge. There was nothing really binding her here, she could just lie and be over with it. Like that, she wouldn't have to deal with whatever pledge she made if she wouldn't do the draw that was rolled by the die. Yet, she didn't want to lie. Lucas was there, and she cared about him even though if she wasn't sure about their relationship. If it became known that she didn't respect her pledge, how would it affect their relationship? There was also the other guests and Phillip, she might be able to befriend them even if they found her weird. Yeah, first priority is to please Lucas and if she could befriend the rest of the people here, it would be great.

Phillip's plea was wild. Getting bad jujus then reincarnating as a dung beetle, a fate worst than death really. Ophelia assumed that was the most extreme pledge possible, and that she couldn't one-up him in any ways. Perhaps she could say the same thing, but instead of a dung beetle, she could be the dung. That was a possibility to keep in mind.

Lucas felt worst than Phillip's. Getting kicked in the crotch hurt as a girl, so as a guy it would be much more worst. She would need to kick too, that also sucked for Ophelia. If she kicked him there, he would probably be mad about it and she would lose him. Could he accept the responsability for his words? She hoped he could handle it. The time she spent with him didn't really tell her anything about him. She knew some of the things he liked, some of the things he disliked. That was it, they weren't that close but Ophelia wished they were. Casually, she started thinking of a future where she wouldn't be alone, and it made her feel warm inside. It was odd but good, maybe she wouldn't need to wait until college to get someone to watch movies with her.

She had the die in her hands. She wanted to toss them right away but she had to pledge something. To prepare the sacrifice if the ritual failed, and it needed to be close to her. She wasn't sure what to say. She had a basic outline of an idea. It could probably work, but it wasn't up to the rest of the pledges. Whatever, she pledged her half-assed pitch.

"I'll do the thing for at least a hour and, if not, I pledge to go to school for the rest of the school year unless I'm like dead or bedridden."

She threw the die. It was thirteen. She saw Phillip's face wince. Aw, Ophelia liked the number thirteen, it was a nice prime number. She made sure everyone saw the number then picked back up the die. She turned her palm up, showing the her hand to the pair. She assumed one of them would pick them up soon.

[Kermit]

No turning back now.

sigh

Michael was full of regret and sadness and many other emotions.

"I'll play, and if I don't I'll, uh, hug Wyatt Carter, I guess?"

He picked up the dice and rolled them. 17. That was good maybe.

He was glad clown rapper oaths weren't legally binding agreements.

[Cicada]

Still she chewed. Maybe forgot to breathe but inevitably that took care of itself. So, she gently drunk down an apple-flavored puff of air. Puffy marshmallow, warm in her chest.

"bee...▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮....hing ▮▮▮▮ I'll c.......▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮ quest we g..▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮..t least an..▮▮▮▮▮▮to the be...▮▮▮▮▮▮▮y abili▮y, u▮▮▮▮▮▮ some reason we gotta reroll...".....
......
"or else....▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮....ission to kick me in ....▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮..er foot."....
......
"....▮▮▮▮... unless I'm lik..▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮......dden."......
..... "I'll..▮▮▮▮▮▮, hug Wy...▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮... I guess?"

Still she chewed. She finished breathing. From Michael's fingers she gently plucked away four dice, of five, then, one dice, of five. Of five now she had possibly and maybe five. She was herself one of five.

Five people recurred like a motif, five band members, and five persons in this room.

Five names she'd had yet to forget, as she nodded solemnly at every one of them in order. "I pledge..."

"... If I do not see this to conclusion, that, I will sleep on the sidewalk with only... the clothes on my back, this evening." Her hand flipped over, it tumbled in place.

Topsy-turvy, knuckles up, palm down, she dropped the dice and they landed with the click unto the clack that pleased the ear.

Snake eyes. Death in at least several languages. The third of the devil. The first.

She was not yet out. And, Beryl offered the dice back to someone. Also, not yet out.

[MurderWeasel]

The pledges were made. The dice were cast. Ophelia was out, which was, you know, good fucking stuff. It wasn't that Phillip had any issues with Ophelia—from his extremely limited interaction with her so far she seemed cool enough, distinct and appropriately distanced from mainstream to actually have interesting things to talk about—but she'd thrown a thirteen and some omens you just didn't want to mess with. Her going out right away was probably the manifestation of the bad luck the number brought, this way, so Phillip wouldn't have to worry about the Boulder being rolled by someone laboring under a bad-vibes curse.

"Alright," Phillip said, handing Ophelia her die back. "Lowest is out for now, but don't worry, you'll be involved again real soon. Now we do another round, then another, and then the final determination, and then we can really get started."

With Ophelia's elimination came also the removal of one die from the pool. Phillip gathered the remaining four, rattled them around in his hands, considered blowing on them for luck but decided not to because who knew if someone was a secret germophobe or something and would raise a fuss. After continuing the rattling for a few seconds longer than strictly necessary, he let the dice fall, bouncing across the table with more momentum than last time. One clinked off the edge of the plate, but none of them fell to the floor.

Five, two, six, and four were the results, for a total of seventeen; Phillip had a certain way of adding dice where he paired sixes and fours right away into little units of ten so it only took him a split second to sum up his cast. Nice. That tied last round's record with one die fewer in play.

"Seventeen," he said, in case some of the others weren't quite as quick on the arithmetic draw. He handed the four dice on, to Lucas. "Your go."

[MethodicalSlacker]

And out Ophelia went. Probably for the best that she was out of contention for roller of the boulder. Lucas hoped it would fall in the hands of Phillip, because Phillip vaguely knew what he was doing. Of course, it'd still be pretty neat if Lucas got his hands on the die again. It felt good to roll around. Ophelia? If she won, maybe she'd just about chuck it through the window. Afraid of it, or something. Nothing against her, but it was the future he saw. With her elimination came the elimination of her die, leaving only four to roll.  

Phillip's roll came up pretty good. Higher than his initial, if memory served, which it hadn't been, his memory, recently. He didn't know what exactly it was, but it came to his attention when a friend accompanied him to the bookstore and told him that his ramblings (complaints about the typeface of Gaddis' The Recognitions, diatribe on the flimsiness of Penguin Classic editions, pointing out the entire row of editions of Moby Dick, none of which were the one he had happened to read) had been repeating themselves for the last however many times they had gone to the stacks together. Lucas kept a lid on it for the rest of the visit, despite the prompting of his brother in arms.

"Everything you say sounds like halfway bullshit," they had said, "but the other half is kinda funny, tee-bee-eighche."

"I'm not bullshitting," Lucas said, "It's not like books are a subject I'm not knowledgeable about, anyways. I'm just, y'know, talking as I go. Talking, in general."

He was pulled from his memories by the extension of Phillip's hand in his direction. Embarrassed, he muttered an apology, took the dice, and rolled them without a good shake.

Three, three, three, three. That's twelve.

"Aw, nuts."

Lucas shook his head in disappointment as he gathered the dice up in both of his hands and held them out to Michael seated across the table.

[Kermit]

Buzzcut was out apparently. That meant Michael had a one-in-four chance of doing something he would probably hate doing. Michael'd already decided no matter what "Rolling the boulder" was, it was gonna be terrible.

Phillip rolled and got seventeen and then Other Guy - Lucas, his name was Lucas, because how many Lucases can one school have - was spaced out, which was pretty #relatablecontent, and then he got a shitty roll which was even more #relatablecontent. Michael clumsily grabbed the dice from Lucas's hands, giving a put-on sympathetic frown.

"It's okay, I'll probably only get like three." Michael mumbled, before giving the dice a roll.

A three, a five, and two sixes. That was eight, plus the twelve was...

...twenty. It was twenty.

Well fuck. Next round of rolling he'd probably just botch things.

"Neeeeeevermind, I got twenty. Sorry." He put the dice down the table in front of Beryl. "Beryl, you're up."