[ look. he's pretty lightweight, but he's also a thirty year old adult man that works out. he may not be able to keep weight on him to save his life, but Roche isn't that stacked and their height difference is that crazy. so when he doesn't so much as grunt, that's almost as telling as the incandescent effect that the overhead lights bounce off of. this guy's SOLDIER through and through, and that opens up about a million questions in Reno's hamster-on-a-wheel brain, like: what class? have they met before? are there others? and also: how is he still alive and in one whole piece?
there'll be plenty of time for all that later, though. work time and play time are definitively separate, and that line is strictly not to be crossed, especially at a time like this. the searching, calculating look in Reno's eyes comes and goes, and he falls back against the table like a maiden being laid out on her wedding bed to grin upside-down at the folks sitting closest to where his head lands. ]
Guess I better hope you roll a "bite" next time. It's not cheating if you only roll one die, right?
[ I think that's cheating, someone answers. ]
Okaaaay, but none of you are gonna rat about it. Deal?
[ to make a deal, you generally need to extend an offer in exchange, and Reno doesn't—verbally. the offer is in the casual and effortless bend of his leg as Roche lifts it up. he is in fact very flexible—maybe not "can put his leg behind his head" status, but that range of motion seems to stretch as far as Roche needs it to and then some. he's gotta have good core strength, too, to keep his back completely flat against the tabletop without needing his other leg for leverage against something; the tip of his toes doesn't even reach the floor. (shorty.) that's the deal: this show for cheating on the next round. nobody gives a real answer, though, probably because they're all transfixed by the length of that bare leg over Roche's shoulder or how his t-shirt rucks up, pooled around his navel and leaving little to the imagination where it counts. ]
You heard 'em. Handicap next round. If my turn or someone else's doesn't fucking wreck you first, that is.
no subject
there'll be plenty of time for all that later, though. work time and play time are definitively separate, and that line is strictly not to be crossed, especially at a time like this. the searching, calculating look in Reno's eyes comes and goes, and he falls back against the table like a maiden being laid out on her wedding bed to grin upside-down at the folks sitting closest to where his head lands. ]
Guess I better hope you roll a "bite" next time. It's not cheating if you only roll one die, right?
[ I think that's cheating, someone answers. ]
Okaaaay, but none of you are gonna rat about it. Deal?
[ to make a deal, you generally need to extend an offer in exchange, and Reno doesn't—verbally. the offer is in the casual and effortless bend of his leg as Roche lifts it up. he is in fact very flexible—maybe not "can put his leg behind his head" status, but that range of motion seems to stretch as far as Roche needs it to and then some. he's gotta have good core strength, too, to keep his back completely flat against the tabletop without needing his other leg for leverage against something; the tip of his toes doesn't even reach the floor. (shorty.) that's the deal: this show for cheating on the next round. nobody gives a real answer, though, probably because they're all transfixed by the length of that bare leg over Roche's shoulder or how his t-shirt rucks up, pooled around his navel and leaving little to the imagination where it counts. ]
You heard 'em. Handicap next round. If my turn or someone else's doesn't fucking wreck you first, that is.