“All yours, doc,” Mari says with a small wave of her hand. That leaves her with the mother of all chads. Backwards hat, baggy jeans and all. He stands head and shoulders taller than her— but, so does everyone else —and looks like he expects to win. That is Mari’s favorite kind of opponent. Years of training had prepared her… well, not for this moment, but it didn’t hurt. “Guess it’s just you and me, Chady boy.” Her head turns to Blake before he can give her his real name. Not like she cares for it, anyway. “Alright, ring leader, count us off, why don’t you?”
“Alright!” Blake shouts over the general noise that’d started to rise again, gesturing down the line of four tall bar tables before she moves to stand behind her own. “We’re almost ready.” She points a finger at their crew, slowly sweeping through her options — her finger pauses on their esteemed leader, but Blake winks and moves on. Finally, she lands on someone nearly as stocky, even if it looks like he might crumble into ash for the hours he’s so obviously spent in the tanning booths. “You! C’mere.” Blake pats the table in front of her, and the man steps up with a smirk as he adjusts the sunglasses resting in his icing-tipped hair.
“We ready?” She addresses down the line, far more concerned with the responses of her own squad than the chads opposing them. As soon as she gets a nod from each of them, she clasps the sweaty mitt of the guy standing in front of her — yeah, his breath definitely smells like cheap beer — and calls out, “Go!”
Blake slams his hand down against the tabletop with zero pretense, so hard she can almost hear the bones in his knuckles crack. Destroying his masculinity seems a lot more fun than toying with it, so she immediately laughs in his face to boot. “Looks like it’s back to the gym for you, bro!”
Dare watches her friends pair off and square off against the douchebros with a hint of pride; she knows they’re not losing this, but the way they work together as a team is a big part of what makes hanging out with these three so much fun. At Blake’s direction she takes her place across from Mr. Muscle and flashes him an almost innocent smile.
"You ready to lose to a girl, big guy?“ she taunts, knowing all too well exactly how he’ll respond. Sure enough, he strips out of his jacket and flexes his massive biceps as he sets one elbow on the table, and Dare has to fight the urge to laugh. She doesn’t bother with posturing, just plants her own arm in position and wraps her fingers around the base of his thumb - he’ll find out what he’s up against soon enough. The moment she hears "Go!”, Dare meets Mr. Muscle’s forceful grip with an arm like stainless steel. It’s second nature by now to add mass exactly where she needs it, to pad the tendons in her elbow and shoulder so the extra weight doesn’t strain them too hard. There’s no trace of effort on Dare’s face even as he starts to strain, veins bulging, in a futile attempt to gain some ground.
There’s cheers and groans from down the crowd they’ve accumulated as Blake obliterates her own opponent, a guy Dare’s nicknamed Beef Jerk-y. She doesn’t have to look to know exactly how that match ended. Instead Dare keeps her eyes trained on the man across from her and begins to force his hand back an inch at a time, buzzed just as much on his bewildered and embarrassed expression as she is on the whiskey.
He loses - and she wins - in slow motion. Once she’s pressed the back of his hand to the sticky tabletop Dare wipes the sweat from her hand with the nearest napkin and offers him a sportsmanlike handshake. “Hey, I’m sure you did your best.”
Stevie waits to go last on purpose; letting Carrot Top watch all his friends fail in record time. Call it a mind game, but she’s here to win. When it’s their turn, she meets his eyes and only shakes her head as he places he ‘good’ arm on the table. “Let’s make this interesting. Since it seems I’ll have to take it easy on you.” She starts, placing her left hand on the table instead of her dominate right. Carrot Top tries to argue with her, convince her to use their dominate hands, but she shuts him down.
“C’mon, Carrot Top. Don’t be a chicken now.” The patronizing tone she takes is maybe a little mean, and definitely part of the mind game, but she doesn’t drop it even as she lowers her voice. “Carrots, chicken..” She pauses to give him a wide, cocky grin and chuckle. “Add a couple of potatoes and you’re a proper roast, huh? Which is what I assume you’ll be in for with your friends if you walk away now.” Stevie glances at her friends, still smiling. “I know we certainly will.”
“So c’mon.” She challenges, wiggling her still splayed fingers. “Try me.” The taunts seem to work, as he places the elbow of his weaker arm on the table and reluctantly connects his hand to hers. “Can one of you be a doll and count us off again?” Her eyes never leave his as the countdown begins. On the ‘Go’ command, they both throw up their best resistance, their joined hands teetering as they fight for control. While Stevie only barely matches his strength, her ability tells her that this will be a battle of stamina-- and she’s got more of it.
It takes a few handful of seconds, but eventually that bum muscle in his shoulder-- and old injury that was never set properly, her ability decides-- buckles and gives way, giving her all the leverage she needs to slam his hand onto the table. Stevie throws her hands up in victory, turning to her friends with an obnoxious cheer.
