Fly

Chapter 6: Arcade

"Hey, toots, wanna join us at the arcade?" Stanley asks with his usual grin, leaning against the doorframe.

"Pleaaase come with us, please, please, please!" Mabel chimes in, her big puppy eyes already working their magic. She's practically bouncing on her toes.

You chuckle, unable to resist her energy. "Okay, okay, I'll come. No need to beg, Mabel."

Stanley smirks. "Looks like the magic word is 'please'... Or, in Mabel's case, repeating it like a broken record."

Soon enough, you're smack dab in the middle of a bustling arcade. The lights are bright, the sounds are overwhelming, and the smell of popcorn fills the air. It's all delightfully chaotic. You're standing in front of a Whac-A-Mole machine, ready to prove yourself. Or, well, trying to. The moles pop up faster than you can swing your mallet, and it doesn't take long for Stanley to start snickering beside you.

"What's so funny?" you ask, missing yet another mole. "These things are fast, okay? Don't judge."

Stanley chuckles, holding up his hands. "I ain't judging, toots. I'm just impressed you haven't hit a single mole. That's like... a whole new level of bad."

"Oh, shut up! Watch this—I'm gonna get one, and you'll eat your words, old man."

Stanley grins. "Yeah, yeah, sure. And I'm gonna sprout wings and fly outta here."

You focus intently, tongue sticking out a little in concentration. When you finally manage to smack a mole, you cheer loudly. "Ha! See! I told you I could hit one!"

Stanley gives a slow, sarcastic clap. "Bravo! One whole mole. Don't forget your single ticket, toots. You're on fire today."

You stick your tongue out at him. "Well, some of us don't spend our lives hustling arcade games."

Stanley chuckles. "Hey, I don't hustle; I strategize. Big difference."

You laugh, giving him a playful shove, and the two of you wander over to the Pong machine where Stanley gets really into it. His eyes are glued to the screen, and he's leaning with every move. You can't help but find it endearing how intense he looks, like he's competing in some world championship.

"See, that's how it's done, toots!" he declares, tapping the screen proudly showing off his top score on the leaderboard.

Your jaw drops. "What the hell? Seriously? You beat the top score. Do you, like, live here or something?"

Stanley shrugs nonchalantly. "Maybe. Back in our town I came by the arcade when Ford's knee-deep in some nerd project. Gotta entertain myself somehow."

You smile, feeling a bit more relaxed. "I used to go to the arcade too, with my sister..." you start, but the memory makes your chest tighten, and the words trail off. Stanley, ever the sharp observer, notices the change in your tone.

He steers you away from the topic, gesturing toward another game, giving you a chance to shake it off. "C'mon, let's try something else. How 'bout we test our strength?"

You both find yourselves at a boxing arcade machine. Stanley's eyes light up like a kid who just got free reign in a candy store. "Now this is more like it!" he says, sizing up the machine with exaggerated seriousness.

You snicker. "Careful, old man. We don't want you breaking a bone or something."

He smirks, rolling up his sleeves. "Hey, I'm practically a pro boxer. Got knuckles of steel. I could knock out anyone in my sleep! Wanna see?"

"Sure, show me what you've got, tough guy," you challenge, stepping aside to give him space.

Stanley does a few exaggerated stretches, rolling his neck which makes you laugh out loud.