#one final stream

"Pretty sizable lot now," Dot says, and Pearl takes the hat when it's handed over, near overflowing.

"Great!" Scar nods towards the wheel, propped awkwardly on the back of the couch, "Want to do the honors, Joe?"

"Gladly, Scar." Joe hooks his finger around the highest peg on the leftmost side.

"On go," Cub starts, and everyone counts down, eager to see the first victim.

"Three, two, one, go...!"

The loud ticking of pegs against the wheel's stopper rings out. All eyes follow the path, some people clenching in anticipation, only sighing in relief when their name is passed by, while others seem disappointed when the wheel slows too much to land on them this go around.

"Ooohohoo," Skizz sing-songs as the wheel finally stops, "Time to take your lumps, Gemmy!"

From where Gem is sitting, she can't read the wheel, hadn't even bothered looking up at it until Skizz calls her out. As soon as she does, she regrets it. "I'm first?"

"I don't think there are any other Gems here," False comments, and only smiles when Gem narrows her eyes.

Gem sighs. She gives herself a couple of seconds to feel sorry for her own bad luck, before rolling her shoulders back and lifting her chin. "You know what, this works for me," She gets to her feet, walking to Pearl's side, "I'll get my task out of the way, and I'll have the rest of the stream to enjoy you guys going through worse."

"That's the spirit," Pearl says, holding the hat open on either side.

Gem peers in. The challenges are well-folded, no ink visible from the outside, no indication of how agreeable or terrible the task inside may be. She sighs again, "Okay, here goes nothing."

As well as she can without making the tasks spill over the hat's edges, Gem dredges the very bottom. The tasks her friends came up with are mostly there, she figures, much more willing to chance something thought up by them than by the crowd. When she unfolds it, Kirsty's handwriting stares back at her, and she grimaces.

"'Put on the shock collar'- did we keep those?!" Her voice pitches up in disbelief.

"They were ours to take," Martyn points out, "Expensed 'em out and everything."

"Oh, lord," Gem glances back into the hat and wonders how many more of the tasks involve painful props, "Okay. 'The remote will be given to a mystery player. Retrieve the remote from that player by any means necessary, or-" Gem pauses, nose wrinkling, "'...endure a max-level shock.'"

Gem's task garners some intrigued noises. "So wait," Cub begins, "You won't know who has the remote, how are you supposed to figure it out?"

"The remote isn't that small," Impulse notes, "It'd probably be hard to hide if she just told everybody to stand up and show their hands."

"Then it'd be too easy," Tango crosses his arms, tilting his head back as he thinks.

"We could do what we did with the carrots in Permitmaster?" Jimmy suggests. Grian turns in Jimmy's direction, lungful at the ready, and Jimmy quickly amends, "Say nothing of eating it!"

"How to do it is a Gem problem, to be fair," Ren points out, "But she's smart. She'll have that remote in her pocket in no time."

Gem could only hope that was true.

~

In one of the back bedrooms, Gem paces irritably.

It shouldn't take that long for them to figure out who's going to hold the remote, and yet it feels like she's been in here for ages. A precaution, so she couldn't see or hear anything of relevance, though that didn't stop her from pressing her ear to the inside of the door and straining for any hints. Nothing came of it but a stiff neck.

The anticipation is the worst. Every so often, she'll feel the shock collar vibrate, wrapped nearly twice around her bicep to keep it from slipping, but never does it truly shock her. It just makes her jump, every single goddamn time, and she can't wait to rip the thing off and maybe bean whoever's doing it to her in the head with the remote.

Just when Gem considers leaving the room to complain about how long they're making her wait, there's a knock.

"We're decent," calls Skizz, and Gem tries not to look too relieved when she opens the door.

"Not a day in your life," She sasses, shouldering past a giggling Skizz just in time for the first real shock she's gotten since fixing the collar. It doesn't hurt much, but it startles a sound out of her regardless, and she whirls back around. "Skizz!"

"What?!" Skizz grins, unrepentant, but offers his hands, palms out and notably empty. "You think they'd send the guy with the remote to get you?"

Gem looks him up and down, then continues towards the living room. "No, that'd be way too obvious of a plot twist," She mumbles, and Skizz follows with a cackle.

They rejoin the others in the living room to a round of giggles and shushes, not an innocent face in the bunch. Most of them are feigning varying degrees of nonchalance, while others look moments from cracking, shifting in their seats and biting their lips to make their amusement a little less obvious. It reminds Gem of classrooms, students waiting in anticipation for a teacher to stumble upon the prank they'd pulled.

Slowly Gem circles the couch, meeting as many gazes as possible. She gets shocked again while she's behind it, only slightly stronger than the one she'd felt in the hallway, tensing up as it comes and goes. Interesting, very interesting. She takes notes of the heads that turned to follow her versus the ones that didn't. Whoever's manning the remote probably wanted to see her reaction, or maybe they wanted to throw off suspicion by remaining aloof.

When she finishes her circuit, Gem is standing in front of the couch, hands on her hips. With things as they are, she has frustratingly little to go off of. "Okay, here's how this is gonna work," She says in a tone that doesn't invite argument, though a few look prepared to give it anyway, "I'm gonna ask questions, and you're gonna answer it. I won't just ask who has it, 'cause that's no fun, but whatever I do ask, you've gotta be honest. Sound fair?"

"So we're going at it Guess Who style?" Tango asks.

"Exactly." Now it just comes down to the questions.

~

It only takes three, in the end.

"It's one of the boys, isn't it." Less a question, but she's given an answer nonetheless. No Pearl. No False.

"Did they get shocked during the event?" Asked out of spite, mostly. Whoever has the remote has been shocking her at her most susceptible moments, in the middle of words, in the middle of breaths. Not Joe. Not Scar. Not Cub.

She wants it to be someone who knows what it feels like. She hopes that, when they felt it, it hurt. It probably did, considering who was manning the remote during the event.

And then it hits her. The liberal, comedically-timed shocks make more sense. No hesitation, no sympathy. She's already seen Skizz's hands.

"Did they already know how to use the remote?"

The room is split hilariously between excitement and resignation, and Gem can infer the answer from that alone, standing in front of the remote-bearer. "I already know you're not gonna make this easy for me," She says, crossing her arms, "but what's it gonna take for you to hand that remote over?"

Grian grins.

~

The bedroom door shuts behind them, the lock clicking with finality. The path of Gem's earlier pacing is still obvious in the carpet. If Grian notices, he doesn't say anything, simply lingering halfway between the door and the bed until Gem points at the foot of it. "Sit."

"Yes ma'am," Grian answers. It might have gone to Gem's head if it wasn't for the way Grian said it, flippant, like this was something he was allowing and not something he was straining for.

Gem rolls her eyes and ever-so graciously doesn't acknowledge his tone. Instead she nudges his legs apart with her knees, standing between them. "I should've known it was you," She says flatly, "Who else would get off on the power trip of shocking people when they don't know it?"

Grian's face pinkens unevenly, Gem notices. Splotches of color betray his embarrassment, even as he keeps his voice nonchalant. "Lots of people, probably," Unable to close his legs, he leans back on his palms instead. The extra room it provides his hips doesn't make it any less obvious that Gem's callout had been warranted.

It's kind of fascinating. Grian at half mast in his jeans and getting harder. This bulge has a cult following, Gem has seen the pictures. The real thing has to be worth the attention it draws.

But she never said Grian wouldn't have to work for it. "Well?" She says, and her eyes follow his Adam's apple through a thick swallow, "Open your pants."

Grian giggles- outright giggles- and Gem remembers her earlier resolution, to smack whoever had the remote in the head with it for torturing her. "You're awfully demanding for somebody who needs something from me."

"And you're awfully bratty for someone who agreed to my terms," She shoots back. Not that she's surprised, actually. This is a man who pokes and prods, finds the edges of what he can get away with and enjoys the thrill of toeing ever closer to that line.

His hands are moving. Fidgeting, more like, slowly popping the button of his jeans and flicking the tab of his zipper in such a way that the teeth part one agonizing row at a time. Grian isn't looking at her, isn't looking anywhere really, a distracted stare shot into nebulous middle distance, and realization dawns. No way.

Grian's breath catches as Gem takes his face in her hands, angling his head up to look at her. She can see it better now, in the way his eyes widen, in the way sweat is starting to shine at his hairline. He tries to lean away, and Gem doesn't allow it.

"You're nervous, aren't you!" She beams, squishing his cheeks with her thumbs. This isn't like him, at least, not the him that Gem knows. That Grian is mischievous and determined, following through on even his worst ideas if there's a bit to be made, "God, that's adorable."

"Well I'm not now," Grian laughs, startled and delighted, one hand moving to cradle Gem's against his cheek, "I don't think I've been called adorable since my primary days."

"Yeah? You should be told it more often," Gem teases, and Grian rolls his eyes. There's fondness in the creases of his smile, pressed against her palm, and this, Gem thinks, is her Grian. "We don't have to, y'know. It's just a game."

It's the wrong thing to say, she knows immediately. "Right. A game," Gem can feel the way Grian's expression wavers, like he's trying not to grimace at the reminder. The hand holding hers pulls away, reaching to pull the remote out of his back pocket. He brandishes it like he's making a point. "This is what you want."

Oh.

"That's how I win," Gem clarifies. And she wants to win, as much as something like this can be won, but- "I want what we agreed to."

So does he, if the way his flush creeps further down his face is any indication. Gem thought she'd made it very clear, when she'd trapped him on the couch, arms framing him where they held her weight on either side of the backboard. 'Promise me the remote after,' She'd whispered, 'And I'll make sure you and my mouth are very well acquainted.'

There's no cameras here now, no viewers to rile. There is no game when nobody is watching, only the two of them and the decision of how to end the narrative once they leave the room. There's only one way Gem can think to make it any clearer that it isn't the game motivating her right now.

"Give me the remote." Firm and sharp, Grian looks taken aback for a moment, holding out what she asks for. It's simple, when Gem looks at it- it sort of reminds her of a massage chair remote. A screen with an arrow button on either side reads the intensity of the shock, still set to seven.

"Gem," Grian says with caution. Gem flips the intensity as high as it'll go- oh god, it reaches sixteen?- then turns the remote so Grian can read it. "What are you doing? Gem-!"

Grian makes a grab for the remote, but it's too late to keep Gem from hitting the shock button. Her scream is first startled, then pained, enough to make her knees buckle. Grian catches her weight before she can spill across the floor, and she breathes in lungfuls as the feeling disperses.

"Why would you do that?" Grian frets, easing Gem down and pulling up her sleeve. It feels better as soon as the band is off of her arm, and she groans softly. God, she'd braced herself, and it was still terrible!

But Grian has a different look in his eye, now. Something like awe, instead of the hesitation that had been there prior. Terrible, but worth it, Gem thinks.

Grian rubs gently at the marks left behind by the shock collar, and Gem grins when she looks up at him. "Guess I lost," She says simply.

His thumb pauses on her arm. "Y- what?"

"That's max-level," Gem reminds, "I endured a max-level shock. So, game's over. I lost," She adjusts to stand on her knees, stabilizing herself with a hand on his thigh, and she doesn't miss the way his legs inch apart to accommodate her, "But there's still this really cute guy on my bed, and between you and me, I've wanted to know what he tastes like for ages."

The bewilderment in Grian's eyes makes Gem want to giggle. She only manages not to by catching her lip between her teeth, but she can't help it when Grian's eyes follow the motion, a giddiness bubbling up as it becomes clearer and clearer that Grian understands now.

No bit, no game.

He leans down, and in a low voice that makes Gem shiver says, "I think that can be arranged."

~

They really should have kept track of time in there. Gem only knows it's been a while because, when they finally rejoin the others, they enter to a round of cheers.

"We were just about to send a search party," Martyn says, and Gem doesn't dare ask how long they'd been gone. The stream looks like it got along just fine without them, anyway.

"So does Gem pass?" Ren asks, "We heard a scream that sounded very, ehh..."

"High-voltage?" Impulse provides.

Gem's just about to tell them, when Grian plants a hand on her shoulder. "Gem got it. Can I tell you...!" He steps around her, navigating to an empty space beside Skizz behind the couch, "Can I tell you, chat, she- Gem gets the remote from me, right. She looks at it, goes, 'Well if Impulse and Tango could handle it', and bzzt! Shocks herself at sixteen. Dumbest, bravest thing I've ever seen."

There's another brief celebration, pats on the back, congratulations, commiserating over how much the shock collars suck. Gem smiles and laughs through it, letting herself be ushered onto the couch. If she tilts her head back, Grian is standing just left of her.

Somebody whistles, and Jimmy straightens, holding his hands up in surrender, "Just sayin'! I'm just sayin'."

Scar feels his face warm, warmer still when Skizz laughs, "Jiggles, look what you did," He ribs, "Y'made Scar all shy!"

"Whaaaat? No," Scar looks away, "Not- not at all, y'know, I'm- oh, the hat, can I-?" He reaches for the jester's hat, and Dot hands it to Joe hands it to him.

As Scar makes a show of mixing up the task slips, Grian chuckles. "For anyone who didn't get to see it--- viewers too I guess, if your POV wasn't on the main stream when it happened, but mostly for those in the room--- this is exactly how Scar reacted when a dono called him a cutie."

"True," Martyn agrees, "Got all bashful and moved on as quick as he could."

"I mean, we were on a time crunch," Cub defends.

"Thank you, Cub," Scar hands the hat off, one folded piece held between his index and middle fingers. He uses it to point around the room at his friends, eyes narrowed and amusement clear in his tone, "And I won't be standing for any more of this slander! Due only in part to not being able to stand." He allows a moment for the snorts and giggles to pass, holding the note between his hands, "Now can a man get a drumroll please?"

Half of their ensemble obliges, drumming on table edges and couch cushions and empty wall space as Scar unfolds the note with a few bracing breaths, using all the caution of defusing a bomb.

He reads it, and relaxes. "Oh," Scar says, pleasantly surprised, "I was expecting something way worse."

"Oh?" False leans to the side, as if trying to get a glance at the task despite being too far away to read it, "What'cha got, then?"

Scar clears his throat. "'Blindfold yourself.' We've got those somewhere, right?" At Karn's affirmative, he continues, "'A random player will kiss you. You have three tries to guess who, and if you cannot,'" He lowers his voice dramatically, "'Buy that player's dinner'."

Scar has a funny feeling he knows how this'll end.

~

"Okay," Impulse begins, dusting his hands off. They'd just finished moving the sectional a little further back, allowing more space for Scar to be in front of the camera, "We were thinking the best way to go about this might be to make it similar to Mystery Hermit."

"Scar was a judge on that segment, though," Ren points out, "He kinda carried them, don't you think that'll be too easy?"

"Excuse me," Pearl squints, and Ren ducks his head sheepishly, "Gem and I did great too!"

"He's got experience with all of our play styles," Tango carries on, "It's not like he has any of the kissy-kissy-goo-goo variety experience."

"Or maybe he does, I suggest non-judgmentally," Joe interjects, "Still wouldn't make the task at hand easy."

"I like that idea, though," Scar agrees, maneuvering himself into the freed-up space, "Making it like Mystery Hermit. I could, uh... ask for examples, you know? Different kinds of kisses. Maybe three, and I get one guess after each?"

"Sounds like a plan," Martyn says, "You better get that blindfold on. These lot fighting over you might give them away before we even start."

Scar snorts, but obliges. Adjusting the blindfold takes a second, the elastic catching against the tubing of his cannula, but he manages. He doesn't see it when Gem waves a hand in front of his face, only feels the air around his nose displace.

"I do have a better idea than us trying to hash out who gets the honor on our own," It's Zed's voice. Straining to listen, Scar hears a lid pop, and marker squeak on a whiteboard.

"Oh! That's smart," Jimmy says.

"Just a reminder before we spin this thing," Now it's Cub, and Scar imagines the way he talks with his hands while he explains, "We can't make noise. No oohs or aahs or excitement or disappointment, 'cause that'll give away who it is or isn't. Okay?"

Various affirmatives sound out, and a hand lands on Scar's shoulder. He only jumps a little bit. "That means you're gonna be the only one talking for a bit, there, Scarface," He rubs Scar's shoulder, "You ready?"

"Roger that," Scar affirms, hands squeezing his knees in anticipation, "I'm so ready."

The sound of pegs against a stopper fills the room.

~

Nobody speaks, but things aren't silent. The beeping has kicked up again, a quick and high-pitched series of three dots and a long-pause dash. That one hadn't happened during the charity stream proper; even at Scar's most nervous, it didn't hold a candle to how hard his heart was beating now.

It takes him a minute to reach back and flick off the corresponding monitor, before the sound gets too obnoxious. He knows he isn't at risk of dying right this second, he doesn't need the devices attached to him trying to tell him otherwise.

It's just a kiss. A few, maybe, at most. It's been a long time, but he's kissed before. Enough that he shouldn't be as worried as he is, and yet, when somebody taps his hand twice to indicate that the kisser is ready, his first instinct is to lighten the mood.

"Well hello there," Scar says into the... presumably occupied space in front of him, "Come to places like this often?" There are some huffs of laughter, too airy and quiet to interpret, but at least it tells Scar that there is somebody in front of him. He smiles ruefully, "Yeah, me either."

His palms are already starting to clam up. Scar dries them on his sweatpants, and tries to think of what he would need to learn to narrow things down. One thing at a time. "Okay. Give me... a friendly kiss. We've known each other for a long time, we haven't seen each other in a while, we're getting together for drinks and girl talk," Scar's voice raises in pitch, a little valley girl tease, "Kiss me like that."

The response is quick. Two kisses pressed to either cheek, but not much else. No brush of their face or touch of their hands that might give Scar more information. It makes Scar chuckle once the kisses are over, "You really committed to the duck face on that, huh?"

The kisser draws a circle on the back of Scar's hand, a nonverbal affirmative. "Yeah, I was hoping to feel a little more from that. Chin scruff, or something. But nope, just lips."

Scar wipes at his cheek, and his fingers come back lightly slicked with something greasy. It's not much of a hint, but it's all he has to go off of, crossing the people who don't wear some kind of lip balm regularly off of his list.

"Y'know, I'm gonna be pretty disappointed if I got kissed by my Sheriff and didn't have my eyes open to enjoy it," Scar tsks, "But my first guess is Jimmy."

There's enough silence following the guess that Scar starts to think he's right, that they're too stunned to follow up. Before he can take any pride in his deduction skills, though, an X gets drawn on the back of his hand.

"That's real sweet," Jimmy's soft voice makes Scar turn his head, coming from somewhere over his shoulder instead of in front of him, "But it ain't me, chief."

"Shoot," Scar buries his face with his hands, takes a deep breath, and lets it out in a giggle, "We're back to square one!"

Not entirely. One confirmed no is better than nothing, and what remains can be narrowed, if Scar can only think of how. He sighs, dropping his hands and "looking" at the kisser.

"Please tell me you've seen Star Wars."

The circle on the back of his hand is immediate. Not Gem then. "Now bear with me! Bear with me here--- There's this scene in Empire Strikes Back, where they're running repairs on the Millennium Falcon and Han finds Leia fixing the- the console unit things," He pauses, opening his arms, "Kiss me like Han kisses Leia."

Whoever it is, they really understand the assignment. Instead of feeling lips on his, Scar feels his hand be taken, the one they'd been using to communicate. Held between both of theirs, his palm is kneaded delicately, a thumb stroking along the ridge of his knuckles, and Scar wishes suddenly that the blindfold wasn't there. He wants to see how they might be looking at him, if the exasperated fondness or the giddy delight are only in his imagination.

It's hard without a face to put to the expressions, but it warms Scar regardless. "A scoundrel," He quotes, leaning forward ever slightly, and wonders if they would act out the whole scene, if talking were allowed. "I happen to like nice men."

They're smiling when they finally kiss him, and Scar smiles back, taking in as much as he can. They're not clean-shaven, stubbly growth tickling Scar's face where they're pressed together. When their hand finds Scar's back, Scar's finds the back of their neck. Their hair is short.

The kiss is brief and chaste, as far as kisses go. In the movie, Han and Leia were interrupted before anything could escalate. Here, it just seems like good sense, sense that Scar can feel himself losing. If the kisser hadn't pulled back, he might have kept going, and his ears might be just a bit redder as he clears his throat to compose himself.

So the kisser is a Star Wars fan. Their hair is cut, but they do have hair, so Tango is out. Joe as well, for having too much of it. They have a beard, which knocks out Cub. Their hands were firm and confident, the way Scar imagines a musician's would be. "Is it Impulse?"

The X on his hand comes quicker this time--- on account of the fact that the kisser never dropped it--- as does a breathy little laugh from behind Scar. "Sorry," Impulse's voice is a little closer than Jimmy's had been, and further to the right than Scar could turn his head if he tried, "I'm uh, not the droid you're looking for."

"Dang it," Scar snaps his fingers, "Good reference though, I appreciate that."

One more kiss, one more guess. Scar needs to make it count, but with two very similar suspects remaining, what could a kiss tell him that he hasn't already learned?

He worries his bottom lip between his teeth. It might be time to make some assumptions. He tilts his head up towards the kisser, and squeezes their hand. "Kiss me like you love me."

Silence follows. Their hand slips out of Scar's, and his heart sinks briefly, afraid that he'd crossed a line. It stings like a rejection, and Scar's head lowers.

And then there's a hand on Scar's face, cradling his cheek and making him look up again. There's lips in Scar's hair, and the press of their forehead against his own, a tenderness that makes Scar's breath catch even as they move on. The pressure of soft kisses over the blindfold's fabric, on his nose, at the corner of his mouth, before they follow right below the line his breathing tubes cut across his cheekbone. They kiss the shell of Scar's ear, the lobe, they kiss across Scar's jawline, all the while making soft strokes with their thumb on the other side.

Scar adjusts himself in his chair before he can melt right out of it, and the soft touches pick up where they left off. They kiss the soft underside of his jaw, his neck, just below his Adam's apple, before finally kissing his lips, slow and sweet and wonderful.

It's intoxicating, and when the kisser tries to pull away, Scar pulls them back in by the collar of their shirt.

When Scar's lungs' demands outweigh his heart's, he breaks away again, catching his breath in shallow pants as his oxygen machine hisses to keep up. When he tilts his head forward, he finds that the kisser is still there, and Scar blindly presses their foreheads back together. "Ren...?" It comes out small, almost vulnerable.

There is no drawing on the back of his hand. Instead, the kisser pulls away just enough to get Scar's blindfold up and off.

Scar blinks his eyes open against the light, and is met with none other than Ren, smiling softly. "In the very flesh," He says, "You did good, baby."

There's whistles and applause, people eager to fill the quiet space with sound after so long spent restraining themselves. A few congratulate Scar, and bit by bit, Scar comes down from the lightheaded comfort he'd accidentally slipped into.

Ren stays all the while, sitting on the couch beside the space allotted for Scar's wheelchair, and when Scar's eyes look a little clearer, he nudges their knees together. "That was. A lot," Ren admits, too low for the microphones to catch, awkward in a way that's endearing like he's only now considering he might have something to be embarrassed about, "Everything still cool between us?"

"I think that depends," Scar teases, "Am I just gonna have to live with the knowledge that you kiss like a young Harrison Ford?"

Ren snorts, "You're flattering me, dude," But he grins all the same. "What is there to do with the knowledge if not live with it?"

"Use it," Scar suggests, leaning in hopefully, "I mean, we do have a whole lakehouse to look forward to..."

"Oh no," Ren laughs, good-natured, "This is how it starts, isn't it? The Scarrage is occurring."

Satisfied, Impulse brushes his hands off and backs away, opening the view. They aren't in the studio anymore, that much is made clear by the quality of the "set", not much more than a living room. It's a bit cramped, the sectional overcrowded. Some people sit on the floor in front of their coworkers' legs, while others opt to fill the space behind them, leaning on the furniture's backboard or sitting on stools dragged in from the kitchen island.

"I wouldn't worry about the seating arrangements much," Grian points out. Regardless, he shifts to the left to accommodate Cub taking a seat between him and Ren, "We're not gonna stay seated."

"We might," Pearl chimes from her spot, perched on the sectional's rightmost arm, "Depends on what kinda things they ask us to do."

"We know full well what kinda things they're gonna ask us to do," Martyn says, snickering when Gem groans from the floor.

"You get one pass," She asserts, though it loses a lot of its authority when muffled by her palms.

"We're all gonna make good use of that pass," Zed interrupts, pointing his chin towards the chat monitor, "But maybe we tell the fine viewers what exactly they're tuning into, eh?"

The group's attention turns to Scar, who nods and offers a wave to the camera, "Uh, hello! Welcome, to those that weren't here for the charity livestream, and welcome back to those who were! Hopefully you all were, it was a great time," Scar looks around at the gathered faces, "And we decided that we could make it better, and get even closer to heights we've never reached before."

"Some of the more attentive folk are asking about the age restriction," Joe informs, monitoring the chat, and Scar dips his head in an exaggerated nod.

"That is correct, yep, we-" He clears his throat. Under the tubing of his cannula, the top of Scar's cheeks go a bit pink. "We've uh, been given permission to do some crazy things! You know? Some things we're gonna have fun with, fun for you guys, fun with each other..."

"So, yeah, the stream is restricted to the adult crowd," False picks up where Scar trailed off, "Mostly just to cover our butts in case we skirt too close to TOS."

"And before we get people getting all up in arms- yeah, there it is, I see it! It's happening already!" Skizz jabs a finger at the chat monitor, then at the camera, "Before anybody else gets the wrong idea, yes, all the wives and girlfriends and what have you have given their blessing."

"Some of them are literally behind the camera," Jimmy agrees, gesturing off screen. The camera wobbles, and Kirsty comes briefly into view, grinning face upside-down as she leans over the tripod.

The feed goes dark, and Kirsty gasps, "Ooh, sorry, sorry-!"

"S'fine," It's Cub's voice, and moments later the picture returns.

"I really thought I had enough room," Kirsty pouts, no longer visible.

Ren chuckles, but nods in their direction again, "Karn and Dot are back there also."

"We're helping," Karn says, but the disembodied thumbs up offered at the edge of the camera is Dot's.

"Couldn't do it without them, our little note-taking monkeys," Tango jokes, and Scar chuckles, tapping his mic against his palm before he continues.

"If it wasn't clear enough, everyone's incredibly on-board for this, and we did our due dil- diala- hff,"

"Diligence," Grian offers.

"That," Scar amends, "Everybody knows, everybody's cool with it, and everybody knows how to opt out if they change their mind or if it becomes too much."

There's a round of agreement from the group, and Scar passes his mic off to Martyn. "Hello, chat. Sick of my voice yet?" He asks the camera, "Yeah, me neither. So! The way we have this working is, you guys are gonna keep doing what you've been doing. You're gonna watch and enjoy and donate if you can, keep being awesome, except now, we ask that your donations include some kind of challenge for us. Tango?"

"Oh-" Tango takes the mic when Martyn offers it, crouching behind the couch to pick up a familiar jester's hat. The bells on the ends jingle as Tango rattles the contents, "We've got the hat of mysteries and wonder here, all geared up with some dares that Zed, G, and I came up with, y'know, just in case your suggestions are poopy we'll still have something to work with-"

"Now hold on," There's a brief struggle as Zed grabs the mic and pulls it down to his level, making Tango lean over the back of the couch with a yelp when he refuses to relent. "I just want to clarify that my involvement in these prompts was minimal. Most of them are Grian's doing, I'm innocent."

"A likely story," Impulse hums, hardly smothering a grin, "I saw you getting pretty into the prompts that you did contribute."

"Of course I did," Zed's smile is all mischief, "And I'll take credit and-or blame where it's due, I'm only saying, our contributions were not equal."

"Excuse me, Peanut Gallery," Tango fumes from where he's still leant over the back of the couch, and beside him, Jimmy gets a fist in his shirt to help him upright. Zed lets him go, holding his hands up in surrender, and Tango grumbles through laughter, brushing himself off. "As I was saying, now that I'm not getting foldificated... Your challenges are gonna get screened and written by our lovely note-monkeys back there, and we're gonna spin a wheel to pick who's digging a thing outta the hat."

"Not a wheel," Joe corrects, leaning in to share the mic, "The wheel." He picks up the same colorful wheel they'd used to pick each 100k bonus event, turning it towards the camera. The events have been erased, and each of the slices have been sliced in half again. Each sliver has somebody's name in it, with the extras being labeled 'Reroll'.

Gem looks at the wheel, exasperated, "We could've used our phones, it would've been so much easier!"

Joe shrugs, "Well where's the fun in that? The spin needed more drama, more physical representation. The weight of chance demands fanfare, Gem."

"Oh, my gosh," Gem pinches the bridge of her nose, but amusement quirks her lips in a way that makes Joe giggle when she doesn't follow up.

Ren leans forward to pat Gem's shoulder. "That about covers it, I think," Ren notes, and Tango points the mic in his direction. Ren leans away in surprise, then gets his bearings and returns, "Viewers donate, suggests challenges, the challenges go in a hat, and we spin to see who pulls. We'll be a well-oiled machine, baby!"

"That's the hope," Grian says, eyeing the donations before returning to the camera, "We're gonna leave it be for a little bit, give you time to make your donations and suggest your tasks or questions or whatever else you see fit to give us."