fuck marry kill

[money]

FUCK, MARRY, KILL

welcome to GAME NIGHT at DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES. the game on the docket? FUCK, MARRY, KILL. the rules are simple: roll the game picker wheel three times or just pick three as you'd like, dropping the names in your header comment — icly we'll say they picked they names out of a hat. people respond, comment around, get into fist fights, kiss a little? thread hop and react as you see fit!
(meme threads can be considered canon!)

Comments

[temporicide]

Ah! You're the best. [ Thoughtfully, ] I think so, too. For your order. But I would want a prenup. He can't have my radio equipment if he leaves me for a wood nymph or something like that.

[kobes]

[deeply fascinated:] What's a prenup? And a wood nymph? And do you want ketchup?

[temporicide]

Noooo, come sit with me. I requisition you.

A wood nymph's like a fairy that lives in the forest brushing their hair, luring them deeper into the woods. But a prenup, [ and here her eyes get big, mouth twisting in a kind of nonverbal yikes, ] that's a legal thing, a prenuptial agreement. So if two people get married, they say, okay, here's how much money you get if we get divorced. Or don't get. So if one person is really rich maybe it screws the other one over.

I don't think they're very romantic. I would never, not really, not outside of the little game. What's the point of marrying somebody if you don't give them everything?

[kobes]

Ohhhh, okay, requisition, I see. [koby obligingly scoots into the booth next to roza, setting down the water pitcher and towel he’s been fluttering around with all evening and stretching out his feet under the table – sore.]

A fairy that lives in the woods. [have an eyebrow arch, roza, because – well. she likes the woods and she has beautiful hair. the mention of a prenup has him nodding slowly, a little bewildered.] It – doesn’t sound romantic, no. Sounds a bit like you’re preparing for the worst.

[then she mentions marriage and koby’s head drops a little, breath hitching, both hands curled into the towel on the table. two weeks and it’s still a sharp, jabbing pain, like swallowing glass.] I, um. I wouldn’t know. [he hates explaining it, but he’s told not that many people, and he knows roza, trusts her, so –] My boyfriend, um. Went home. On New Years. [way to immediately dampen the mood, kobes.]