Robin and Steve playing a dnd character together because Steve said the only way he'd play is literally with Robin. They take turns each session for who speaks but always planning together. It's a teenage human, gangly and uncoordinated and a bit of a loner. Everyone sort of lets the "two people playing one character" issue slide, as they want to play a game with their friends.
Robin and Steve have wildly different character voices, and sometimes announce which way they are walking before stumbling in that direction, and also mutter to themself in character. when it's Steve's sessions to talk he flits with the NPCs Eddie plays, but Robin is just a little aggressive to them. The personality changes are kinda weird but everyone is just happy they're playing.
Everything is going well until the big bad of the short campaign they're all playing knocks them into a wall. Not hard, but hard enough they're scrambling and flailing and...splitting in half. By their own description. Immediately they start, with their respective character voices (they are committing to this bit) bickering about whose fault it is. And about what they should do now their cover is blown.
The table is silent.
Robin and Steve have been conning everyone the entire time. They're playing twin halflings, who alternated who sat on each other's shoulders pretending to be a human because they were goofing off the day they joined the party and were too embarrassed by the mix up to correct anyone about it until they had to. Their voices and personality changes are brilliantly embedded as not Robin and Steve not being able to keep consistent, it's because they've been playing different characters. It's brilliant. It's horrible. Everyone fell for it and the reveal essentially pauses play because everyone starts yelling at them.
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Biker! Simon riding in the rain. The arms on display 😩
https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPRThsgyQ/
i hiccupped out loud oh my goooooooorddasd
the arms.. glistening.,. the way his muscles flexed when he began drivin ghn.,,.
this is the type of shit biker!simon sends you when you ask him where is he at, your worry bubbling over because the rain is getting stronger as time crawls by.
he took shelter at a nearby petrol station, the rain having obscured too much of his vision to ride home safely, when he receives the message. unabashedly, simon sends you the video as proof that he's doing alright.
then, he writes:
just got caught up, love. give me ten and i'll be home soon <
your response comes in right away, and simon sputters in laughter, eyes devouring the incredulity buried in your reply.
> where the hell did ur jacket go??
simon types up an answer but pauses when another message comes in from you.
> find a way to stick an umbrella on ur bike otherwise take the damn car next time 😭
he can't help the barked out laugh that scratches at his throat, his mind conjuring up images of himself—big, bulky, and towering—riding along kingsway with a brolly wedged between the strings of his rucksack.
not only is it a road bike hazard but it's so utterly ridiculous that simon is willing to actually give it a try.
he looks towards spar, his lips pursed.
roger that <
—
your phone lights up with another message and you feel your shoulders loosen up, worry subsiding a little bit.
it had been twenty minutes after your last message was sent to simon, but he had not responded after. he said he would be home in ten, but time trickled and ran, and simon was yet to be back, so this reply makes your lungs unclench.
you swipe your phone from the coffee table to check it, only to feel faint surprise filling you up at seeing that the message was not from simon but from johnny, sent to the group chat.
you didn't even know simon was with the gang. or was he meeting up with them?
without much thought, you clicked on the message, bypassing the confusion at seeing that it was a short video so that you can watch it. maybe he has a visual on simon–
what the fuck.
it was simon, alright.
the video was taken from an empty parking lot, johnny's camera shaky as he zooms in on the familiar wrapping of simon's bike swerving into the lot and moving towards johnny. in it, you hear your friend say, "what in fresh hell–"
and you can't even fault him because, again, what the fuck.
simon's got a rainbow-coloured umbrella strapped behind him, the stick of it wobbling even with his smooth cruising. he stops his bike just in front of johnny's vantage, feet falling to the asphalt for balance, before he reaches over to flick his visor up.
"hey," simon greets normally like there's nothing incredulous in having a whole umbrella poking from his back.
"ghost, what the hell," johnny repeats, his voice teetering between horror and glee.
you watch as simon shrugs, before, "my sweetheart advised me to have one f'r the rain. can't really find faults in it, yeah?"
what–
you remembered your previous message.
fucking christ.
—
hhrewoejfr bantering my beloved
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