The miniature legion of Flaming Skull necromancers grimaced at the brightly clad clutch of Radiant Hand clerics over the green felt distance. Had they life, they would have picked up the flaky orange Cheezie Puff granules left by Rick and hurled them at the clerics in hopes of a distraction.
Orange snow, masquerading as brimstone, quit often makes a cleric think twice.
“What the hell’s wrong with Rick?” Mike asked in the kitchen, a few leagues away from his Flaming Skull miniatures frozen on the dining room table. He would clean up the mess later before Lara–his wife–came trucking home from the office. Lara had to work on a Saturday, which meant she would be super grouchy if she found a mess in her living room.
“Rick?” Suzy, a good-for-nothing rogue-player winced, “did he actually fart again?”
“Right?” Mike laughed, pouring another mug of soda to wash down that memory.
“And I mean, what the hell? He hogs the puffs, gets the residue all over the twenty-siders, and then has the nerve to vote against vegetables on the frakken pizza.” Suzy frowned, wishing the soda in her mug was a stout glass or vodka instead.
“Dude has prooooobleeemmmms,” Mike nodded, glad to find common ground with the rogue. As a paladin, he had to keep his eye on her in-game, which often resulted in tension outside the game. But apparently Rick would be their glue, their target to diss.
“I mean, sadly–yes–we are all adults here playing a goofy game,” Mike rolled his eyes as he spoke, “but who vetoes half a pizza? I mean, he can’t eat every slice. Hello? Dinnng-dong! He is in a G-R-O-U-P!”
“And the whole: Oh I really don’t like mushrooms either, can we just make it bacon and hamburger?”
Mike smiled, “like that wasn’t what we ordered last Saturday?”
“And he constantly has his dirty, orange Cheezie stained fingers in the group M&M bowel. I refuse to even look at that bowel now.”
“Definitely a nice guy though, funny.” Mike said, almost feeling guilty.
“True, but the guy is almost thirty. He should have learned he can’t get his way in life, especially in a group, all the frakken time!” Suzy drained her mug of out sheer frustration. “Comedy or no comedy.”
“Definitely chaotic good,” Mike said philosophically.
“Definitely,” Suzy agreed.
“Hey guys,” Rick said as he bustled into the room, fingers still stained with Cheezie dust. “What’s cooking?”
“Just complaining about my sucky dice rolls today,” Suzy said. “I gotta run. See you guys next weekend? My house this time?”
“Definitely,” Rick said. “Can we have some healthier snacks this time?”
“For sure,” Suzy agreed. “We are all looking rather flabby.”
“Mmmm, don’t put out any broccoli,” Rick complained, “it’s such a waste. I’d much rather you dish out some brownies with fudge icing. Can you make those this time? Last time your snacks were a little sketchy.”
Suzy stopped at the liquor store, bought the vanilla vodka that would bring her instant relief, and began organizing her vengeance. There would be dishes of radishes, tofu fingers, soy sauce in tiny dipping bowels, and broccoli. Tons of broccoli and cauliflower. A veritable forest of the stuff.
And if Rick said one damned word about it, angels would not weep for the truth she would spill on that man.
