Ridiculous

Introductions

It was a dark and stormy cliche, the wind howled and a lone wolf howled, then the wolf and the wind glowered at each other and had a howl off to determine which was most suited as the traditional creator of gothic suspense. They realised that their two howls actually created quite a pleasant harmony and the two soon formed a band and toured the world but then broke apart a few succesful years later due to creative differences, even though everyone knew it was because wolf had slept with wind's wife.

But anyhow, one lone figure walks across the deserted midnight streets. He is a chubby man and despite deep canyons on his misanthropic face, permanently set in a resigned frown, he is quite young, no more than twenty years of age. Dark golden hair droops and curls over his forehead, like a lifeless octopus sat and decomposing on his head. His dark blue eyes squint at the night, his the edges of his fat lips are set in a firm downward curve and not even the surprisingly pleasant howling noise of the wind and the wolf can cause even the slightest faded memory of a dead ghost of a smile to appear.

The figure finally reaches his destination and stops in front of a small semi detatched house. He takes a key out, after a moment of curse filled fumbling, from the depth of his pocket. The house does not belong to him but to the only person who he can even remotely call something close to nearly being a friend. The fact that the person has his something-close-to-nearly-being-a-friend's house keys is not exactly a testament of trust endowed in him as he stole the keys when his something-close-to-nearly-being-a-friend wasn't looking, which hadn't been very difficult.

The door opens but no light spills into the streets. Instead the interior is slightly illuminated by a flickering glow of the television screen. The sharp light illuminates stacks of games, games consoles and games magazines. These items have gone past cluttering and now seem to have joined the foundations of the room, no wall can be seen but instead, columns of stacked game review magazines and games as well as old and now obsolete games consoles. The only objects in this this room that are not gaming magazines or consoles or games are: a small wooden dining table (piled high with games), a work top (piled high with games) which consitutes the kitchen, a computer (on a game review site) and the thin young man hunched in front of the television, games console in hand. The screen of the television shows a figure in robes fighting another figure atop what appears to be an arena.

"Hello Toby!" shouts the figure at the door, locating and switching on the lights, pushing over a stack of First player shooters twice his height in the process. The young man, Toby, in front of the television continues to stare at the screen, his body static bar his hands which are dancing expertly over a controller. Toby is a young man, about the same age as the chubby figure, but of a more slighter build and where the man where's a shirt and tie, Toby wears a T-shirt, draped loosely over his bony shoulders.The chubby man walks haltingly towards Toby, stepping over stacks of games and occasionally stepping on them in frustration. Then in one deft movement slaps him.

The controller falls from Toby's hand and in an instant Toby stands up, his eyes clouded over behind his black rimmed spectacles. He shouts "Shoryuken!" and punches the man cleanly on the chin, the man flies in a graceful ark across the room, and lands with a crash followed by a clatter of a landslide of game consoles and reviews. At this noise Toby blinks and shakes his head, roused from his gaming trance, looks up and notices the chubby figure now doubled over, holding his chin. "Oh hi Will!" exclaims Toby brightly, Will merely groans in reply.