|Chewin' the Fat
Author: Steel Komodo PM
If you listen close enough, you can hear the conversations from around the poker table. Rated T for swearing and various unpleasent themes, including, but not limited to, "Giraffe Time".Rated: Fiction T - English - Humor - Chapters: 2 - Words: 2,284 - Reviews: 6 - Favs: 6 - Follows: 9 - Updated: 02-06-11 - Published: 01-16-11 - id: 6658512
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
*Triumphant Music* I return! And as an apology for keeping you all waiting, as well as cancelling Mortal Kickball, I present to you... A POKER NIGHT AT THE INVENTORY FIC SERIES! *TA-DAAAAA!
Each chapter will be around 1'000 words, and expand on instances of dialogue found in the game, so as to give a more in-depth view of the characters and how the look upon each other. Hopefully this will give you a bit more insight onto the wierd and wonderful world of Poker Night.
Rated T for Tycho, which explains itself, really. Also, GO AWAY, STRONG BAD/TYCHO FANGIRLS! Your pairing makes absolutely no sense whatsoever and will not be featured in any of these fics ever. So go. Oh, and I don't own anything about the game. We clear? Now gimme five. :D
"At least this is better than poker night at Homestar's."
Tycho looked up from his cards and smirked. Now was his chance to deliver some epic-scale poetic justice that would rival the announcement of Marvel vs. Capcom 3 and be forever remembered by future generations. The young gamer had stuck out against Strong Bad's snide comments towards both his social life and the popularity of his website for a few days, but last week's remark about "cheese doodles and rejection" had been the last straw, and now Tycho was set to see the self-proclaimed "wrestleman" knocked down from his little egotistical fantasy no matter what it took. And the recent comment had just made the perfect ammo for this endeavour.
"Why's that?" he innocently asked as he watched the masked man carelessly toss a few poker chips into the middle of the table. Strong Bad rarely talked about his friends from Free Country USA unless asked directly about them, and the impression the others got was not the best, to say the least – Homestar Runner, despite his reputation as a terrific athlete, had sounded like an incredible loser, even to a guy like Tycho. But of course, he took everything Strong Bad said with a pinch of salt, and sometimes a tall glass of gin fizz.
The wrestler narrowed his eyes as Tycho, but suspected nothing. "Well," he went on in his gravelly voice, "Marzipan's always walking around au-natural, for one thing."
"Who is this Marzipan?" This question arrived via the rumbling tones of the Heavy Weapons Guy, who was currently shovelling a ridiculous amount of chips into the pot with his enormous hands. Tycho glanced briefly up at the huge Russian, nervously reminding himself that the man killed people for a living and, as such, was not to be taken lightly.
"Oh, she's Homestar's on-again, off-again girlfriend," explained Strong Bad dismissively, waving a boxing-gloved hand by way of emphasis. "Not to mention the Grand High Chairwoman of the Go-Back-to-Eating-Grass Society," he added.
"I'm sorry," chipped in the rabbit-like Max as he stopped poking his bellybutton in order to take part in the conversation. "But my brain kinda tuned out at 'au-natural' and that reminded me of time some classy lady tried to smuggle drugs across the border by stuffing 'em down her-"
"Yes, yes, Max," Tycho hurriedly interrupted before the cringe-inducing story could be repeated. He looked down at his cards, took a quick peek under them and groaned. A Two and a Jack – not what he wanted at all, and the River card probably wouldn't ease his situation any more. "I fold," he grumbled, pushing the cards away from him.
"You heard right, Bunny-man," affirmed Strong Bad, albeit with a somewhat disgusted expression. "Starkers. The Birthday Suit, if you will."
Tycho made his move just as Winslow, the highly-refined patron of the Inventory, dealt the River card. "Shame, though," he sighed, a smirk spreading out over his features as he folded his arms. "I mean, that's the closest you'll ever get to a real live woman, huh?"
The reaction was instant – Strong Bad spluttered and waved his arms indignantly, almost knocking over his pile of chips as he went. Max, however, grinned even wider than before, and Heavy actually chuckled with amusement at his smaller comrade's frustrated expression. Tycho's smirk grew – he'd found the chink in Strong Bad's armour, and was mentally fetching a large crowbar and hammer to pry it open and do some more damage.
"Look, Dorkleson," retorted the wrestleman once he'd recovered. "I dunno about you, but vegan broomsticks are not my kind of thing!"
"Broomstick?" Heavy quizzed as he leant over the table, a small smile present. "She has no personality, then?"
"Nuh-uh," was the firm reply. "Built just like a broomstick, too – skinny at the top, wide at the bottom. And I do mean wide."
"That doesn't sound so-" Max began as he made his bet.
"Wide," growled Strong Bad, interrupting.
"Oh, come on," Tycho jeered, watching with glee as Strong Bad was forced to fold. "How does a big booty not turn you on?"
"Not when its owner's trying to force-feed me tofu and soya every ten seconds!" yelled Strong Bad, visibly seething. He then jumped a little as, upon hearing this, Heavy burst out laughing. It was like watching an earthquake in human form.
Strong Bad groaned in annoyance, and lent forward as the still-chuckling Heavy reached for some chips to call Max's bet. "Look," he grumbled, "lemme give you all a mental picture. You know the way a slug moves? Like, with one foot?"
"Yep!" trilled Max as he twirled one ear out of boredom.
"Now," said Strong Bad slowly, as if speaking to a small child about making babies, "try imagining that goin' on with something only remotely human shaped."
There was a decidedly long pause as the entire table, including Winslow, tried to wrap their minds around this concept. Almost immediately, they consigned the resulting, very disturbing footage to the cutting room floor of the brain, and there was a tinkling crash as Heavy, who had paused mid-call to think, dropped his chips back onto the table in shock.
"Oh, fucking hell," groaned Tycho, dropping his head into his hands. Not even thinking about those wonderful giraffes could help him now.
"I do not want to be at table now," rumbled Heavy in a remorseful tone as he leant back and folded instead. Only Max still seemed chipper, and not just because he'd just won a large sum of chips.
"Oh, so that's what you meant by 'broomstick'. For a moment there, I thought you just meant she- ooh, chips!" And the easily-distracted rabbit-thing jumped up onto the table and dragged the pile of poker chips over to his side. Tycho groaned, and prepared himself for the next long, torturous hand. But he could feel Strong Bad's triumphant glare pass over him – somehow, he had known.
Sometimes, he though, getting even is not as easy as it sounds.
There you go. Rate and review, as always, and CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM ONLY, as always.