It's a fuckin' brilliant idea, it is.
It's not as if Chris has been planning it for long at all; it's just an idea he's come up with. Of course, the last time he went camping with his mates, Michelle's sister's car had ended up in the sea and Maxxie's stalker had shown up and had been shagging Anwar. Mostly, Chris had just been happy someone had
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Mmm, that's good impromptu island chemistry. On a stick. "Well, I don't know that, actually, you might be Truth or Dare champion of the midwest for all I know. But tradition demands I say it."
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And if I'm nervous, I'm hoping that grabbing another marshmallow hides it.
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What's traditional? Embarrassing, but not too much. Man, this is tricky. It's not a game I've played a great deal of, honestly. Was never really in the crowd that did. I never minded -- I had other interests, and still do -- but it would have come in handy right now.
Oh, geekiness. There's my option, that's how I spin it to being me-flavored.
"Ooh, okay, I've got it. From here on in, every time you say something, you add 'in accordance with the prophecy' on the end. Everything. That's the dare."
There's a chance it will entertain only me, but screw 'em, it's my dare, and I think it's hilarious.
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"Every time I say something, I'll let you know what's in accordance with the prophecy," I repeat with a smile and a shake of my head. "...in accordance with the prophecy."
Leaning forward and laying on my stomach, I quirk a grin over at her. "Does that mean I get to ask you truth or dare, in accordance with the prophecy?"
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Which is risky, since last time I said that I ended up in the state I'm now in, which is to say, in my skivvies, but I think I'm in safer hands, here.
Possibly poor choice of words, considering, again, in my skivvies. Not that they're crazy revealing, but still, you know.
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Pursing my lips in thought, my eyes scan over the crowd.
"Okay," I nod with a wicked grin. "Choose the person who you think would be embarrassed most, and go Rickroll them. Song, dance, everything, in accordance with the prophecy."
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"Oh, the Midwest never knew what hit it when you rolled into town for the competition," I say.
Fighting a guy with a deathray? Fine. Sitting around in a sports bra and boyshorts? Fine. Performing of any description?
Less so.
"Oh, man," I say, scanning the group for options. Only one jumps out at me. "Okay. Okay." I grab the nearest cup of wine and knock back a not very large amount that nonetheless makes me cough, because, well, I need it, and stand up. " Here goes."
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