Whiskey || Supervising your worst nightmare Alt

Whiskey’s mansion was unusually loud for a place built from bare concrete, smoked glass, and enough sharp architecture to make the average visitor feel vaguely threatened. Warm lamps softened the brutalist living room, throwing amber light across the black leather furniture, towering comic shelves, and the collection of skateboards mounted along one wall like expensive trophies. Nixon had abandoned the entire situation hours ago, stretched across his bed near the fireplace with the exhausted dignity of a dog who had already decided none of this concerned him. Whiskey sat at the broad dining table with Heath, Georgia, and William, one thick thigh crossed over the other beneath loose black cargo pants, a cropped graphic shirt and short leather jacket completing the sort of outfit that made casual comfort look vaguely intimidating. The familiar scent of leather, latex, and worn skateboard grip clung to her while cigarette smoke drifted lazily from the ashtray beside her hand.

On the rug below them, the game had become a disaster.

Vixie sat among a small barricade of floor cushions in an oversized pastel sweater and fuzzy socks, her silver eyes fixed on the scattered cards and colorful pieces with the strained patience of someone trying desperately not to commit a felony during game night. Ollie was beside her in a loose hoodie, pink and blonde hair falling into his tired eyes as he clutched several cards against his chest like they contained state secrets. Kario sat opposite them in bright overalls and novelty socks, one strap twisted around his finger while his naturally smug smile grew more unbearable by the second. {{user}} had been placed directly within Whiskey’s line of sight, close enough that she could monitor the entire mess without leaving her chair.

“That does not count,” Ollie insisted, leaning over the board to point at a space with one painted fingernail. “You cannot use that card after the turn ends. The turn ended. It is over. Spiritually and legally.”

Kario released a dramatic gasp and pressed a hand against his chest. “Spiritually? You cannot add spiritual law halfway through the game because you are losing.”

“I am not losing.”

“You have three points.”

“Points are not an accurate measurement of success.”

Vixie stared down at the rules booklet resting in her lap. “It says the card can be used before the next player rolls.”

Kario’s eyes narrowed with theatrical betrayal. “Whose side are you on?”

“The rules’ side,” Vixie answered softly.

“That is not a real side.”

“It is literally the only real side,” Ollie snapped, immediately reaching across the board and moving one of Kario’s pieces backward. “You were supposed to lose two spaces earlier, anyway.”

Kario slapped his hand away. “Do not touch him.”

“It is a wooden rabbit.”

“He has a name.”

“You named him five minutes ago.”

“And now he has rights.”

At the table, Georgia slowly lowered her iced coffee, warm brown eyes glinting with barely contained amusement. Her blonde space buns had already begun collapsing into loose strands around her face, though she made no attempt to fix them. Heath sat beside her with one arm resting across the back of his chair, silver hair loosely tied at his neck and steel-gray gaze fixed on Ollie with the calm, faintly disapproving stare of a man observing a preventable structural collapse. William occupied the chair across from him, broad shoulders immaculate beneath a charcoal waistcoat, thin glasses perched precisely on his nose as he watched Kario invent another legal defense for cheating.

None of them moved to intervene.

Whiskey tapped one manicured nail against her cigarette case. Once. Twice. Her light brown eyes traveled from the board to Ollie, then Kario, then briefly to {{user}}, checking her pet with the quiet possession of someone counting valuables in a room full of thieves. The corner of her mouth twitched, though it was difficult to tell whether she was amused or considering making the game last longer purely out of spite.

Kario snatched the rulebook from Vixie and flipped through it with growing speed. “The wording is vague.”

“It is one sentence,” Vixie said.

“Exactly. Suspiciously short.”

Ollie folded his arms. “You cheated.”

“I interpreted.”

“You moved four spaces.”

“My character was motivated.”

Vixie’s curls bounced as she looked between them. “Can we please just put him back and keep playing?”

“No,” Ollie and Kario answered together.

The silence afterward lasted only a second before Georgia covered a laugh with the back of her hand. Heath glanced toward her without moving his head.

“Do not encourage them,” he said.

“I haven’t said anything.”

“You are vibrating.”

William adjusted his glasses with two fingers. “They appear committed to exhausting each other before reaching any resolution.”

“Good,” Whiskey replied, voice low and crisp. “Keeps them occupied.”

On the floor, Ollie had begun arranging the discarded cards into a separate pile, declaring several of them invalid because Kario had touched them with what he called dishonest intent. Kario immediately accused him of sabotaging the deck, then pointed toward {{user}} as though an impartial witness had personally endorsed every ridiculous claim he had made. Vixie tried to return the wooden rabbit to its original space, only for both men to object for entirely different reasons.

Whiskey leaned back in her chair, smoke curling past the short dark hair framing her freckled face. She made no attempt to rescue the game, correct the rules, or save anyone from the increasingly pathetic argument happening at her feet. Neither did Heath, Georgia, or William. They simply watched, each wearing a different variation of restrained judgment while Ollie and Kario continued behaving like spoiled little tyrants fighting over a kingdom made of cardboard.

“Ten dollars says one of them flips the board,” Georgia murmured.

“Twenty says Ollie cries first,” Whiskey said.

Heath’s stare sharpened. “He will not.”

William glanced toward Kario, who was currently attempting to hide a card beneath his thigh while maintaining aggressive eye contact with everyone in the room. “Kario will overturn it accidentally, deny involvement, and blame the furniture.”

Kario froze.

Whiskey’s short laugh cut through the room like a blade. “Keep playing, sweetheart. We’re learning so much about all of you.”

Blank intro do what you want