Don't mess with the warrior (RJ)

[FREDDIE FOSTER]

It wasn’t often that Freddie regretted challenges, and even less frequently that he admitted to said remorse, whether internally or to the challenger. Least of all when it was RJ. So maybe his friend had meant it lightly, when he’d suggested they compete in healthy, two person “friendly tournament” (as though there was such a thing. Competition was about blood and guts and gore, always and without fail) to see who was truly the best all-around arcade player. Naturally, Freddie had accepted. He’d won every time before, after all, and there was no doubt in his mind that he’d do so again. He always won. And when he didn’t, he denied the competition had ever happened in the first place, so it hardly mattered, anyhow.

At the moment, they were quite literally neck and neck, and to call Freddie pleased with this would have been asking for something akin to simultaneous beheading and disembowelment. He was tense, and had been ever since RJ somehow managed to best him in that lethal match of Dance Dance Revolution—in other words, his apparent kryptonite. Freddie didn’t know how to dance. You didn’t need to know how to dance to succeed in life, he’d commented once they were though and the score had been rounded back to an even one for both boys. You only needed to know how to woo, and then the only dancing necessary was horizontal, and that came as naturally as breathing.

RJ hadn’t been too pleased with that last comment. At least that had given poor, identity-crisis enduring Freds a momentary spot of relief. And besides, he still had that air hockey win under his belt. Twenty-one to three was a fairly hefty lead, if he did say so himself. And he had. Quite often.

“You know, if we’re gonna talk relatively, here…Then I’m still winning. Because twenty-one to three is way more than two hundred to one hundred, once you do all the fractions and shit…” he certainly hoped it was. It wasn’t like he was planning on adding it all or anything. Freddie spoke casually as they made their way to the counter of the tie-breaking event, laser tag. Not that he was hoping to curve his way into winning. Now way in hell. It just…bared pointing out, was all. Eyes straight ahead, he continued as though speaking about the weather, casually stealing a glance RJ’s way every few words if only to gauge his reaction. “So if you wanted to throw in the towel now, it’s not like I’d be offended or anything. Just so you know—the offer’s out there.”

[RJ TEACH]

RJ was coming hot of his victory at a vicious match of Dance Dance Revolution. Well, that was if you could even call a match against Freddie anything even remotely resembling an actual competition. It was like he was playing against a god damned invalid. For someone who was normally so light on his feet, Rj took great pride in being able to polish off Freddie in a good old fashioned dance off. He could put up with all the other losses, the dumb soccer challenges, the massive crushing in air hockey, all of it, just so long as he knew that at the end of the day Freddie couldn't dance worth shit while RJ could bust a move like it was nobody's business.

His hopes at winning this tournament had looked grim back in the second wave of the air hockey tournament. It had seemed that RJ would be on the losing side of it again, just like always when it came to him competing with Freddie in anything, but now, well, after that massive victory in DDR it seemed that the tables had turned. Rj had something under his belt now that not even Freddie could hope to take away from him. RJ had the most dangerous edge in an arcade game tournament. He had confidence.

You see, RJ had developed a rather important theory on the reason he always lost to Freddie. He was pretty sure it all boiled down to just head games. There was no denying that when it came right down to it, Freddie and RJ were neck and neck in terms of physical fitness and skill in just about everything. RJ had been at a loss, both literally and mentally, when he had attempted to explain his constant defeat incompetition with his friend until he realized that he had been missing one key component all along. Freddie had him beat in terms of sheer bravado. Now that he had thought about it he was POSITIVE that winning all came down to wanting it bad enough, and knowing that you could beat the other guy. It was head games and psyching out the opponent and well, if that dance contest hadn't shaken Freddie then RJ didn't know what would!

"Yeah, yeah, you can do all the fractions and arithmetic you want, but it won't change the fact that you move like an arthritic geriatric when it comes to dancing," RJ scoffed, playfully shoving his friend's shoulder. "And just so you know, I won't be giving up ANY time soon. "

As the two of them came to the counter, RJ dug around in his pocket for some loose cash, slipping it on the counter to the dead-eyed teenager in the goofy outfit who merely accepted it without question. They'd been there before. "You know, one of these days I'm gonna make you pay for something. Just to shake things up a bit instead of me always breaking the bank for you, ya' moocher." RJ grinned widely at Freddie, knowing full well that, as the rich friend, he would always be breaking the bank for his scholarship buddy.

"Same rules as always?"

[FREDDIE FOSTER]

Freddie let out a rather loud, moderately defensive guffaw at RJ’s words, eyes rolling so far back in his head he half-believed he could see his brain. Shoving RJ back with slightly more force, as Freds was so prone to do, he continued on his way as though nothing had gone wrong. “It’s not even dancing,” he began calmly, determined to see this explanation through to the very end, never mind the subtle spluttering speckled throughout. “It’s like—you just stand there, and you move your feet side to side and then all of a sudden they think, ‘Hm, you know what would be really cool? If we made them jump! And then, after that, they can put three feet in three different places, all at the same time! Yeah, that’d be really cool.’ Only, they forget one really, really important thing….people’ve only got two feet. Dumbest game I’ve ever played.”

He stopped the rant (which had been gaining momentum with every word, despite all his conscious efforts to the contrary) when they reached the counter, waiting patiently back as usual for RJ to fork over the necessary cash. “I don’t mooch. I invest,” Lies. Little tiny white lies, however, that wouldn’t hurt anybody. Least of all RJ, who had more money than Freddie believed he knew how to count. At least, that was the way it always seemed to the poor little Denverite, as he so gladly pointed out whenever possible. Hell, he wouldn’t have been surprised if RJ slept with a cash comforter. “Besides, you still owe me twenty from last time, remember?” he smirked, eager as ever to remind his friend of all the bets he’d won. Maybe one day he’d gamble RJ out of house and home. Wouldn’t that be nice. A party boat all to himself, nothing to worry about until he kicked the bucket at the ripe old age of eighty-five, surrounded Hugh Heffner-style by bikini-clad blondes who smelled of summer.

Disgusting. He’d probably get fat, if he had half as much dough as his best friend. How it logically worked out that way, Freddie had no idea. All he knew was that under no circumstances did he ever want to be quite as comfortable as the kid standing in front of him. Life would lose half its fun.

“No backstabbing, no ball-busting, no bitching,” Freddie recited their personal laser tag mantra, pretending to contemplate it for a moment before nodding, shrugging slightly. “Sounds fair. You sure you’re still okay with those, though?” he watched RJ closely, sly grin spreading across his face as he waited to deliver the punch line. They were halfway to the arena’s entrance when it finally bolted from his mouth. “I mean, they’ve never won you anything before.”

[RJ TEACH]

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Once you start investing some money back in RJ Industries then I might consider you something other than a mooch. Until then, you can consider my payment for this game AND air hockey AND DDR as your twenty buck payment. Oh, and whatever food you make me get AFTER this. I swear to God, I'm like your personal bank account!" RJ laughed as he said the objectively harsh speech. Honestly, he didn't care one bit how much he had to lay down for Freddie. Frankly, the more he spent the better. Maybe it would illicit an actual call from his parents instead of a stern email from Mona informing him that he was drawing more than his allowance out of the bank account. Freddie could buy himself an island with RJ's money and he would be right there helping him decide where his friend wanted to build the beach house.

RJ was feeling particularly good about his chances. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like he would win today. honestly, it stood to reason that Freddie couldn't win EVERYTHING, ALL the time! It was - it was a statistical impossibility! RJ had learned all about that in math just the other day! It was a statistical impossibility for someone to win EVERYTHING, ALL the time; the teacher's words exactly, or at least something along those lines. The game of Dance Dance Revolution had proven that fact, and now RJ was sure, he was SURE that he would continue on his streak. Well, it wasn't really a streak until he won more than once, but in that case he would MAKE it a streak!

Freddie was going fucking DOWN!

"I've never had an issue with the RULES. It's your disturbing ability to break them with no concern for your own morality or consequence that worries me!" RJ gave his friend a knowing smirk as he grabbed the red vest off the hook on the wall inside the arena. At this point they didn't need assistance from the dead-eyed assistant sitting outside. They'd come in often enough to illicit special treatment. They had spent enough money on the arcade that they got to act like VIPs.

"And hey! I wouldn't get so cocky, buddy." RJ suddenly bristled to the lack of winning comment, finally registering what Freddie had said. "Way to already break the no bitching rule! Damn, halfway through the door and you can't even hold down a clean slate for half a second."

[FREDDIE FOSTER]

Freddie shrugged at RJ’s speech, eyes rolling impassively as he silently opened and closed his mouth repeatedly in an effort to mock his friend. Half of the words went straight over his head, as RJ’s lectures were prone to. Really, it was fortunate enough he’d caught that fifty percent.

Shaking his head in a manner that could almost be deemed mockingly sympathetic, Freddie clucked his tongue three times. “I’d call that fair, if we hadn’t already agreed that the twenty was supposed to be cash. In my hands, crisp enough to crunch. So thanks for all this—really, it’s great—but I’m still gonna want that bill when we’re though. I mean, if it’s not too much to ask…” he chuckled, giving RJ a moderately light punch on the arm. “And then the ten, too, when I win this tournament,” expertly, he ducked out of his friend’s punching range. It was a radius he’d learned to maneuver out of long ago, having never been much for black eyes.

Freddie nodded at the glossy-eyed teen apparently supervising the arena’s entrance, taking a quick step in front of RJ so as to enter the door first. It was habit—always had been—and he really meant nothing more by it than that, even as he very nearly tripped his companion. Hoisting one of the blue vests off its hook and over his shoulders, Freddie grinned back at RJ once he’d finished buckling himself in, fingers moving expertly from years of practice.

“I don’t just break them for the hell of it!” he protested, brow furrowing slightly despite the smile on his face. Of course he did. Rule breaking was fun and full of adrenaline rushes. What more could a sixteen year-old boy ask for, whether he was trespassing or drinking? After a deep breath, he continued, lifting the large plastic gun out of its holster so as to inspect its worth. “It’s all about strategy. I break some, I keep some. Keeps me winning, doesn’t it?” Oh, he was smug.

“What are you talking about?” Freddie let out a loud, sarcastic burst of laughter as he checked the sensors on his vest one more time, just to be sure they were working. “It’s not bitching, it’s bragging. They’re completely different, and my slate’s perfectly clean. You’re the one bitching about my bragging. Grow a pair,” he nodded, pointing the gun casually in RJ’s direction as he began walking forward, tossing the sensor used to activate the gun into the grey bin resting near the doorway.

[RJ TEACH]

RJ's only recourse against the confusing logic Freddie tended to whip out was to roll his eyes in an exasperated fashion and shrug it off. He had to accept that as a fact of life. He would never be able to convince Frddie that he was right about anything. He swore from day one that Freddie was a lawyer in the making. The guy had the uncanny ability to just twist things to make them work for his point. He would take facts and leave them however he pleased, ignoring the truth if it meant he was able to make something work for his own ends. It was kind of admirable really, and at the same time more than a little frightening that there were people who could live so dangerously removed from reality.

"Yeah, yeah, we'll get you your money alright. We'll head over to the ATM once I give you a proper ass-whooping, kay?" RJ picked up his plastic gun, taking a few pretend shots at his friends head as he strutted away. He couldn't waste time getting annoyed with Freddie and his money-grubbing little habits. He had to get in the zone. He had to be PSYCHED for this! He had to be confident and pumped up about it. His theory had to come into use now. He was SURE that it was all in the confidence. There was no other explanation. That's what he had to keep telling himself.

He was going to win. He was going to crush Freddie like a little bug. He was going to DECIMATE him. The game would be his by a landslide, just like DDR. This time, Freddie would know what it meant to lose and how demoralizing that felt. Of course, RJ would be the bigger man and waive the dumb ten dollars, but that was immaterial. He was sure that seeing the look on Freddie's face would be what mattered most. The fact that he'd won wouldn't matter one tiny iota, just so long as he knew that Freddie had lost and for once didn't have a reason to be so cocky.

"Alright, I'm good. Enough with the talk. Why don't we just get this show on the road, unless you want to delay the pain of losing a little longer. I'd be more than happy to give you a few last moments of holding the title as undefeated champion." RJ smirked as he tossed his own sensor into the bin, stepping into the arena.