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“No no no no, no! ”
“Get your foot out of my face, Jason!”
“Move your fat head, goldie, I can’t see the screen!”
“It wouldn’t matter if I moved or not, you’re still in last place!”
“No! What, how did you get first place, again!? ”
“Your fighting is distracting, calm down.” Cass calmly sat on the floor, her fingers barely gracing over the buttons of the controller. She was doing well for someone who had never played a video game before, holding her own in fourth place after Dick, Damian, and Tim, in that order. Jason was having the most trouble of them all. Honestly, he wants to throw the controller at the tv or blame his less than satisfactory level on the shitty second hand quality of the controller (although none of the controllers, or anything in the manor, was ever second-hand so Jason’s argument would be rendered invalid and he was trying to not throw gasoline at Damian and fuel that fire).
The screen flashed the classic cutscene before showing the siblings their scores. Tim’s character was standing at the top of a champion’s pedestal holding a trophy with one hand and throwing a fist bump into the air with the other. On the second place pedestal was Damian’s avatar of choice, clapping placidly in a show of good sportsmanship-- it was a stark contrast to the avatar’s god fuming on the couch beside the first place winner. Tim, having already moved to the other side of the couch during the first race, sat up on the armrest. He looked like he was ready to bolt if Damian decided he wanted to tackle him.
“This is fucked, glitched. I demand a rematch.” Jason frowned at the screen, his avatar’s name bouncing in place in the twelfth place slot. Over and over and over. Jason wouldn’t call it mockery, but he wasn’t pleased either. Dick’s hand found its way to Jason’s knee, patting him there for a moment before sliding back into his lap.
“So, how about it? Another game?” Dick threw behind his shoulder to his brothers seated on the couch. He was already hitting the bubbly red and yellow ‘continue’ button on screen with his controller. The character selection screen was brought up again.
“We’ve already played eight games,” Tim said even as he chose his usual avatar for the ninth time in a row. Damian decided it was probably the character that granted Tim his otherwise inexplicable victories and plotted to use the character against him. Tim gave Damian a look and shook his head. He wasn’t about to argue with his brother about which character he can or cannot be, Tim wasn’t that petty.
Okay, so maybe he was, but he can let this slide. It wasn’t like Tim wasn’t going to wipe the floor with these inexperienced hoes anyway. Again. However, Damian found it as a near personal attack that Tim was better at him in this comical racing game than he was.
“Alright, one more time,” Dick called, maybe a little too loudly in the dark room. They should probably turn on a light or open the curtains, sitting in front of a tv in the dark is bad for their eyes. “Is everybody ready?”
The avatars were chosen, the vehicle constructed, the racing cup chosen. A chorus of affirmatives sang through the room. Dick smiled. He enjoyed this time as a family. “Alright then, let’s go.”
Not a few minutes into the round, Damian screamed.
“ What the fuck, Drake?! ”