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A screech echoed through the house, so loud that Tubbo would have sworn it was enough to shatter windows, and instinctively pressed his hands over his ears. Game nights with the Syndicate would always be an experience, to put it lightly. He only really showed up anymore so he could claim to have beaten not only the cities top heroes, but also most notorious villains in monopoly. And because watching them attempt to murder each other was endlessly entertaining, no good movie or comic book reached the same height of comedy as Techno pinning Wilbur to the wall with a well-aimed throwing knife.
That was where the most recent scream had originated from, the man now desperately attempting to yank the knife from the wall, which was already covered in hundreds of scrapes, holes and burns from similar occasions. His attempt to free his sweater was failing miserably, knife still buried nearly up to the hilt. It was then that Ranboo appeared from the kitchen. They were carrying a bowl of snacks, but quickly put it down on the table as they noticed Wilbur’s struggles.
“Can i… help you?” Not waiting for an answer he took a step forward, grabbing the blade and easily pulling it from the wall in one swift motion.
“How dare you? Making me look like a fool, a weakling. Traitor.” Was the only response he got. Ranboo knew better than to expect thanks, of course, but they still seemed startled when Wilbur stepped into the centre of the room, looking just about ready to attack his saviour. Unfortunately for him, he’d picked the one victim who could very easily evade his attacks. And so, the great Revolutionary, villain, murderer, capable of literal mind control, ran straight into the couch they’d just been standing in front of, tipping over the backrest and faceplanting into a pillow. All that remained of Ranboo were a few purple particles and quiet popping sound from hallway.
Tubbo laughed, not hiding his glee as he jumped towards the living room table, yanking the monopoly board from Tommy’s hands and throwing off the lid to quickly secure himself the objectively best and most sought after game piece. The thimble. Only one person noticed how multiple bank notes made their way into one of his jacket’s dozen pockets along with it. Tubbo was a born cheater, and he was pretty sure only Ranboo and Techno knew. They both kept their mouths shut, his husband out of loyalty, the Blood God because, well, he was just as bad. They had an unspoken agreement that they’d make sure to always only give themselves a slight edge enough to annoy the shit out of Wilbur and Tommy, but not enough to warrant suspicion. It had worked well for the last year or so, since Tommy and Tubbo had joined the Syndicate.
When Phil finally emerged, carrying a jug of home made lemonade that would one hundred percent end up on the carpet, they began setting up the board. It might have only taken them a minute, if it wasn’t for Wilbur and Tommy continuously squabbling over the correct way to do it, which pieces they were playing, and, hilariously, both doing an atrocious job at attempting to sneak money from the bank.
Tubbo sighed, smacking the back of Tommy’s head before stating: “We’re done. Bossman, everyone saw you take those, put them back. Wilbur, you too.” And just like that, the bickering kids were both suddenly on the same side, both grumbling slightly as they reluctantly returned their excess notes. Then, they began.
Phil rolled just about as badly as he always did.
Techno instantly got a 6.
Tommy attempted to pick up the dice only for Wilbur to flick them away at the last second.
Tubbo tried stretch his luck a little bit by flipping the die, giving up when he notice Phil stare.
Ranboo threw down his money and yelled “Uno!”
Tubbo sighed, looked them dead in the eye, checking for just a second to make sure the eye contact didn’t bother them, and picked up his scattered money.
“Okay. You win Uno.” The horrified realization was clear on Ranboo’s face.
Tommy tackled Tubbo, attempting to wrestle the new notes from his hands. He failed miserably.
Ah yes, the start of an average Syndicate family game night.
The doorbell rang.