A meme I can actually do

1. Lyle

2. Neoseire

3. Fianna

4. Cullen

5. Garrett

6. Florian

7. Malphezra

8. Ace of Spades

9. Illarion

10. Kaioki

Four [Cullen] invites Three [Fianna] and Eight [Spades] to dinner at their house. What happens?

A rudimentary lesson in table manners for Spades’ benefit. A little friendly chatter between Cullen and Fi, which they would try to bring Spades into, but he would not have much to share. If Spades knew what a third wheel was, he’d probably feel like one.

You need to stay at a friend's house for the night. Who do you choose, One [Lyle] or Six [Florian]?
Lyle. He is the anthropomorphic personification of nerdery, compared to Florian, who is the personification of treachery, mistrust, and wrath. The man has range, to say the least. I’d much rather play games all night than sit in awkward silence with Florian until he turned in for the night.

Two [Neoseire] and Seven [Malphezra] are making out. Ten [Kaioki] walks in. What is their reaction?
“Are you being assaulted… by a statue?”

“Erk!”

“… and what on earth is the blindfold fo-“

“Out. Now.”

“Fine! Fine.”

Three [Fianna] falls in love with Six [Florian]. Eight [Spades] is jealous. What happens?

Rivers run with blood and hellfire rains down from a sky choked with charcoal-black clouds.

Four [Cullen] jumps you in a dark alleyway. Who comes to your rescue, Ten [Kaioki], Two [Neoseire] or Seven [Malphezra]?

Kaioki, for he is the only one of the three who would be physically capable of apprehending the offender. Neoseire’s a pretty weed, but a weed all the same, while Malphezra has this terrible habit of freezing the moment a person so much as looks at him.

One [Lyle] decides to start a cooking show. Fifteen minutes later, what is happening?

The stage has been abandoned for the company of a Professor Layton and a bottle of vodka in the green room.

Three [Fianna] has to marry either Eight [Spades], Four [Cullen] or Nine [Illarion]. Who do they choose?
Of the three, Fi would get on with Cullen the best. Illarion is far too anti-social and self-centered, whereas love, let alone marriage, are among the many concepts that Spades knows nothing of. Cullen Crewe is an average chap with no terrible secrets. He enjoys rugby, playing Halo with his old university friends of a night time, and he is the perfect balance between muscle and squish, although she’d never say this to his face. It’s not much to go on, but it’s enough for starters, far more than she’d have with her other two choices.

Seven [Malphezra] kidnaps Two [Neoseire] and demands something from Five [Garrett] for Two's [Neoseire's] release. What is it?

A delicious steak. Unfortunately for Ezra, all it would take to get his hostage back would be a bit of eye contact at just the right moment, and Neoseire would be running for safety in no time at all. No steak for you, quantum-locked-lad.

Everyone gangs up on Three [Fianna], does Three [Fianna] have a chance in hell?
You’re damned right she does. She’d plough through about seven of them with ease. The toughest challenges would be Malphezra, who has no combat experience, but does have the element of surprise on his side; Florian, who is the only person who fights dirtier than Fi, but lacks the sheer strength she can pack into a punch, and Kaioki, whom she'd try to convince to step down, because she wouldn’t want to throw a single punch at him, being a bloke she has devoted much attention to.

Everyone is invited to Two [Neoseire] and Ten's [Kaioki's] wedding, except for Eight [Spades]. How do they react?
Like a duck would react to water sliding off of its back. Then the curiosity would bubble up to the surface. Whatis a wedding?

Why is Six [Florian] afraid of Seven [Malphezra]?
Because seven ate nine—er…

Because even Florian needs to crack a joke now and then.

One [Lyle] arrives late for Two [Neoseire] and Ten's [Kaioki's] wedding. What happens and why were they late?

The blame would lie with a mixture made from equal parts hangover, and sleeping in after a tiring stag night. He would arrive with a wonky bow tie, and his waistcoat would be buttoned up all wrong.

Five [Garrett] and Nine [Illarion] get roaring drunk and end up at your house. What happens?
I lock myself in my room with a flask of juice and my laptop, and I have no intention of coming out before sun up.

Nine [Illarion] murders Two's [Neoseire's] best friend. What does Two [Neoseire] do to get back at them?
Give him a very heartfelt, furious talking to. It’s not as though he could do much else, and even if he had the strength to exact revenge, he simply isn’t the sort to believe it would eliminate the tragedy of the matter.

Six [Florian] and One [Lyle] are in mortal danger, only one of them can survive. Does Six [Florian] save himself, or One [Lyle]?

What on earth do you think, ladies? If you’re thinking that Florian would drag Lyle away from safety to secure it for himself, you would be thinking along the right lines! Pat yourselves on the back. I am so proud.

Two [Neoseire] and Three [Fianna] go camping. For some reason, they forget to bring any food. What do they do?
Fianna would assume the role of the hunter gatherer whilst Neoseire guarded the campsite, to keep both the camp and himself out of danger. Neoseire is a city mouse, his home is definitely not in the embrace of nature. With literally zero experience about nature, he is the sort of unfortunate, inept camper who would startle an animal before he could consider killing and eating it. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was the one in charge of the food, and consequently, the one who misplaced (or outright forgot) it, perhaps to cut the camping trip short.

Five [Garrett] is in a car crash and is critically injured. What does Nine [Illarion] do?

Give not a single, solitary fuck for the passing a person he didn’t know existed? Sounds about right. Illarion has never claimed to be a kind soul, at least not without marinating the claim in a great deal of sarcasm beforehand.

Birds of a Feather

Post from a Dragon Age roleplay. TL;DR - A blood mage, disguised as a bard, is tripping on mana potions - which have very harmful effects to the embiber if used in the long term - and finds himself atop the church roof, thinking he's an eagle. Hilarity ensues. More than anything, this was an exercise in dialogue and describing character interactions, as opposed to the scenery.

______________________________________

She had seen many a peculiar thing on her travels across Thedas. A man living amongst a pack of wolves in Antiva; impractical shoes spawned by Orlesian couture, complete with soles that elevated their wearers far above the dirt of the street, provided the wearer didn’t snap her ankles trying to walk in them first. But never in her whole life had Fianna seen anything quite like the display of lunacy that had perched atop the Chantry roof.

Flanked by a pair of The Maker’s finest, she stood at the foot of the steeple, her mouth hanging slightly ajar in what was best described as an expression of amazement. Whoever stood atop the roof, shrieking at the top of his lungs, had managed to turn drunken mischief into an art form. All but the most obvious of words failed her.

“Aye, boys... that’s definitely a bard on your roof.” Her eyes squinted in defiance of the morning light, and sure enough, Fianna regained some semblance of mental clarity, but only after she invested a few more moments in watching the silhouette of a man gnawing upon his own shoulder. “How did he get up there, anyway?”

“I-I’m... sorry?” Stuttered the red-haired templar to her left, the kind of man who knew that the sky was blue, but daren’t say so out loud.

“Well, contrary to what he is probably thinking right now, he certainly didn’t fly all the way up there, so how on earth did he manage it?” She flicked a gloved hand to the steeple, and their eyes followed its skyward path like a pair of dogs following the arc of a well-thrown stick.

“He climbed, Ma’am.”

“He climbed?”

“Yes, ma’am. Up the front of the building.” He answered, tracing the drunk’s path up the house of The Maker with an armoured finger, which Fianna followed with great interest.

She took one long look at the pair of them, a gentle sort of inspection that neither knight knew what to think of. The redhead shrank away from her scrutiny the moment it fell upon him. It was as sweet as was amusing. “You boys wouldn’t happen to have a ladder lying around, would you? For fixing the roof and the like?”

“That we do, ma’am.”

Her tongue absently picked at a dry flake of skin at the corner of her mouth. There was only one way to scale the outside of the building safely, and the rungs of any self-respecting ladder would splinter at the thought of supporting a Chantry knight and their portable fortress. A small smile cracked itself across her lips. “Well then.”

There was a pause, which would have evolved into an awkward silence if not for a screech from above. The sound of the penny dropping never arrived.

“... pardon, ma’am?”

“The ladder, if you’d be so kind, Ser. I’m sure you were stationed here to do more than stand around looking pretty.” She watched the blush bleeding across his freckled cheeks before he turned away. It was as though he suffered from an allergic reaction to compliments.

“Y-yes ma’am. Right away.”

The brown-haired bookend to her right continued to stare at the silhouette of the drunkard, a disaster that he simply could not tear his eyes away from. A disaster that left him blind to the pack that was swung with care at his chest and nudged against his breastplate with a dull and unexpected clang. By the time he figured out what he was holding to his chest, and turned to regard the lady who threw it at him, she was well on the way to turning him into a pack mule. She gently draped her cloak over his shoulder before a single syllable of protest could leave his lips, without so much as a second glance at him.

As she set to work unfastening the many buckles that held her cuirass to her chest, Fianna eyed the zenith of the steeple like a mountaineer would eye the Frostbacks. She had arrived in Lothering on the back of a wagon, with a view to renting out a room in the tavern. Instead, she took one look at the outskirts; at the rows of tents and bedrolls, and realised that she would be lucky to find a patch on the floor that had not been claimed by another traveller.

But it wasn’t all bad luck, she thought. There would - at the very least - be a story to make out of the day that she could share over a few pints, and for that she was grateful.

The story about the bear raiding her tent was getting stale.