random pre-canon moment with some sbg members (all eighteen or older here) that is a combination:
a hot summer is something not many people want to experience. this goes especially so when the hot summer day drives everyone indoors and being indoors isn't help at all, even if you close the blinds and drawn the curtains to limit the sun's ray and heat. luckily, the invention of the air conditioner and the fan makes being indoors enjoyable.
unfortunately, monty montgomery's air conditioner is broken, and he only has one working fan. as such, everyone is taking turns sharing the fan. still, everyone is wearing clothes fitting for the weather. almost everyone, but he isn't currently in monty's place at the moment and that is the opinion of the people indoors: monty, frank, kit, bertrand, and miranda.
monty is currently in a t-shirt and loose shorts. frank is also in loose shorts, but he's wearing a sleeveless shirt, having taken off his button-down shirt on account of the heat. kit is wearing a tied crop top and jean shorts, with her hair in a messy high bun. bertrand has his button shirt undone, and elected to strip down to his boxers on account of not wearing shorts today, with his pants in a nearby corner.
miranda, the lucky girl, currently has the fan. wearing a camisole and workout shorts (her outer shirt she took off), she lies on monty's sofa with the fan blowing on her face. miranda won her turn with the fan on account of winning the latest round of fuck, marry, kill; her answer was fucking dorothea s. markson (not to be confuse with s. theodora markson, her sister), marrying gifford, and killing captain robinson (widdershins' second chaperone)
as monty lies on the floor with frank, kit, and bertrand, all of them having an ice pack on their foreheads -or chest in bertrand's case- miranda continues to lie on his sofa with her eyes close. it's a comfortable silence in the apartment. nearly everyone would have fallen asleep if it wasn't for one thing...
"aha! that's it!" shouts miranda.
monty takes off his icepack, and sits upright. he sees miranda sitting upright also, positioning herself to see the others on the floor.
"what's it, miranda?" asked monty.
kit, bertrand and gustav follow suit, removing their ice packs and sitting upward to stare at miranda.
"i just thought of a new combination in our game on who gets the fan!" miranda smiles at them, devilishly so.
"oh no," say monty. "i don't like that look of yours."
"something tells me that smile implies our choices this round are worser than the last," says kit, pushing up her glasses. "but i'm in. who do we have to pick from?"
"you're being rude, snicket. we should wait for widdershins to come back," says frank.
"i agree with frank," says bertrand. "it's unfair for widdershins to be excluded and lose an opportunity to have the fan."
"i was implying that with widdershins picking up our lunch, we should wait for our food before we play our game," says frank. "but your reasoning is a hell of lot better than mine."
what frank said is correct. widdershins is the one in their group not wearing clothes fitting for the weather, at least in their opinion. he's wearing a light blue button-down shirt -though his sleeves are rolled up and the top two buttons are undone- and brown loose pants. he unlike the others, made no complains about the hot weather.
and that is why widdershins was elected to pick up their lunch.
"oh bertrand, don't get yourself in a twist!" miranda waves a hand at him. "he'll get his chance! you just have to wait to say your answers until he returns!"
"but that means we have the advantage of having to think over our answers, while widdershins will possibly get only a minute or so," bertrand argues.
"bertrand, while i understand your concerns, do remember that this is widdershins we're talking about," says kit. "remember his philosophy."
"he who hesitates is lost," answers bertrand.
"or she," adds in monty.
"exactly!" miranda snaps her fingers. "that means widdershins wouldn't need to think that long to give his answer. ergo, the rest of you are in the clear on hearing the choices."
bertrand doesn't say anything, but he nods his head in agreement.
"since we have everything settle," continues miranda, "let the game round begin! fuck, marry, kill: ghede-"
"ghede!?" interrupts frank. "you pick her of all people!?"
"says the one who gave us gifford in the last round," mutters monty.
frank gives a nasty glare at monty, and then a hard smack on the arm.
"anyway," continues miranda, "as i was saying! fuck, marry, kill: ghede, mr. clovis baudelaire-"
"miranda," interrupts kit, "you're making this too easy. we all know which one beatrice's father deserves."
"we should grateful that beatrice inherited his looks, and not his personality," says bertrand.
"you all need to remember that i'm not done yet," says miranda. "fuck, marry, kill: ghede, mr. clovis baudelaire, and...ishmael."
hearing the last name drop, everyone froze.
of all the volunteers, ishmael was the one they never expected. their generation has such a hatred -or extreme dislike from those who are trying to be polite- for the old man, the four young adults didn't expect miranda to bring ishmael's name up in their game.
everyone is in too much of a shock to make a proper response or complaints of frustration at miranda. speaking of frustrations, miranda quickly crosses her arms, and glares at them all.
"is no one going to yell at me for including that old coot?" asks miranda. "no cussing me out? nothing at all?"
no one still speaks.
"since you're all going to be quiet," continues miranda, "now would be a good time for widdershins to show up."
knock-knock-knock!
"everyone, i'm back! i got our lunches, aye!" shouts a familiar voice.
"well shit," says miranda, standing up now. "i got bless with the gift of prophecy from apollo. don't worry everyone. i'll get the door."
miranda leaves the room, leaving everyone still in their place. the four of them hears miranda unlocking the door, and widdershins stepping in. not long afterwards, the two of them return. widdershins is carrying two large paper bags, one in each hand.
widdershins stares at them all, and then tilts his head. "what got their tongues?"
"my choices for the newest round of fuck, marry, kill," answers miranda. "give me the bags, widdershins. you should sit down. you been in the heat, after all."
widdershins does exactly that, taking a spot between monty and frank. widdershins stares at each one individually, and then twiddles his thumbs. "are they that terrible of choices?"
"depends on how you look at it," says miranda, her voice coming from the kitchen. "well, since you're here, it's now your turn to hear them. fuck, marry, kill: ghede, mr. clovis baudelaire, and ishmael."
widdershins blinks a few times in rapid succession, and then stares at everyone. "that is certainly a combination of choices, miranda."
"i know." miranda comes back to the room, and sits back down on the sofa. "but that is the aim of the game, widdershins."
widdershins turns his attention to miranda. "i suppose so." he then curls up a lock of his hair up like parentheses. he stares at a random spot somewhere for a moment, and then lets go of his lock of hair.
miranda gives a brief glance at bertrand. it's an 'i told you so' glance, for she next says, "i assume you have your answer?"
"aye. gave it some thought too," answers widdershins. "for me, it's fuck ishmael, marry ghede, and kill clovis baudelaire."
seconds later, everyone sans miranda speaks up at last.
"please tell us you're fucking joking," says monty softly, voice so soft it's hard to hear.
"what the ever-loving FUCK," shouts frank, voice bold and loud.
"what are you fucking thinking!?" yells kit, voice hinting great disappointment.
"i must again reiterate: 'fuck' in our game context means sexual intercourse," states bertrand, as if he's reading a dictionary definition.
"aye. i stand by what i said," answers widdershins, standing up. he brushes his hands on his pants, and claps his hands. "i'll tell you my reasoning over lunch. aye, i'm starving. i hope the chill cucumber soup isn't warm. josephine says it's one of the best things she ever ate, aye, and i want to eat it the way it should be!"
as widdershins walks to the kitchen, everyone stares at one another, still horrified with what widdershins said with little hesitation.
miranda is biting her lower lip, eyes wide. kit has her hand on her forehead, looking pale and haunted. frank drags both of his hands down his, and gives a muffled scream. monty runs both hands into his hair, and screeches softly.
bertrand is the only one who has a resemblance of calm. he stands up quickly, and then buttons up his shirt. then he walks over to the nearby corner where his pants are at.
"regardless of our associate's reasoning," says bertrand, putting on his pants, "are we in agreement that whatever we answer, widdershins wins this round?"
"aye," say kit, nodding her head.
"agree," says miranda, blinking a few times.
"no one is going to beat widdershins's answer," says monty,
"of course no one is," says frank. "it's hard to beat the answer of a hypothetical old man fucker."
8 notes
·
View notes