His little on-screen avatar was green. He made the little crew member run around in a circle.
“I’m MJ!” Myungjun’s avatar was orange and wearing bat wings hat. Over Jinwoo’s headphones, his voice was clear as a bell, but Jinwoo had invested in expensive gaming headphones for a reason.
He smiled fondly at the screen, amused by his best friend’s antics.
“I’m DalKong!” Bin cried, making his red crew member run laps around the waiting room. The little cartoon creature was wearing a hockey mask.
“That mask is scary,” Minhyuk said. His voice, like Bin’s, was slightly tinny, but where neither of them were professional gaming streamers, neither of them had invested in good mics, not like Myungjun and Sanha.
“Which one are you?” Sanha asked, as if it wasn’t obvious.
“Oh, this is me.” Minhyuk’s avatar was blue, and his screen name was the same one he used for everything. “I’m Rocky.”
Said avatar was waiting patiently in the middle of the room.
“Of course you are,” Bin muttered.
“Yah! Yoon Sanha, keep on with the roll call,” Myungjun said.
“I’m Ddana!” Sanha chirped, his avatar yellow and wearing a pink flamingo on its head. Then he added, “I don’t see why we have to do a roll call. It’s not like anyone’s watching.”
Where Minhyuk occasionally assented to streaming with Jinwoo, Bin and Dongmin weren’t interested in their gaming skills being broadcast for the internet to see.
Still, when gaming together, some protocols were to be observed.
“That leaves Dongmin,” Jinwoo said. As their leader, he had to make sure everyone understood the ground rules before the game started, to effectuate as satisfying a gaming experience as possible for all involved.
Dongmin’s avatar was a lighter shade of blue — dark cyan? — and wearing a very classy top hat. “Here I am.” He made his avatar zip back and forth.
“How do you pronounce that screen name?” Myungjun asked. “Ka-lee-pie— eh?”
Jinwoo could picture Myungjun’s puzzled head tilt.
“Tonight,” Dongmin said, “I am Callipygian.”
“What happened to EongDongmin?” Myungjun asked. “Or some other eongdeong butt-related pun?”
“Or a ding-dong pun,” Minhyuk suggested.
“Binnie picked this name for me, and I said I’d use it,” Dongmin said primly.
“Bin-hyung?” Sanha hooted. “You let him pick your screen name?”
“What does it mean?” Minhyuk asked.
“I know!” Myungjun cried, with the totally unwarranted confidence of someone who was the worst of their friend group at English. “It’s like Calliope, from Sandman. She was a poetry goddess.”
“Bin does. Is Dongmin-hyung your poetry goddess now?” Myungjun’s tone was full of innuendo.
“No, that’s not what it means,” Dongmin said. “If you really want to know, look it up yourself. I want to play.”
“You just want to beat Minhyuk, since he’s the only player you can beat,” Sanha said, teasing.
“I’m getting better,” Minhyuk protested.
“Farming doesn’t count,” Bin said.
The truth was, Bin and Dongmin were about equally good — or bad — at games, and there was no guarantee that Bin would beat Dongmin.
Among Us, however, required deception, and Minhyuk was a terrible liar — in person. Over voice chat, where others wouldn’t be able to see his facial expressions or nervous tics, he had a chance to prevail. Also, Stardew Valley with its farming tasks and map navigation might have helped Minhyuk build the skills he needed to complete tasks aboard the spaceship — or chase others and kill them on the sly.
“Now that everyone is here and we are clear on each player’s name and color, let’s begin,” Jinwoo said, and started the game.
What followed was about the level of chaos Jinwoo had expected, everyone running around and trying to complete their shipboard tasks, be it rewiring panels or committing murder on the sly. Unfortunately for Minhyuk, he initially didn’t realize he could still complete tasks even as a ghost, or that he could use vents to get around the ship when he was the impostor, so he struggled for the first few rounds. Meanwhile Bin had forgotten to mute his mic, and he giggled nervously whenever he killed someone.
“Bin-ah, mute your mic,” Dongmin hissed, but it was too late. The impostor had been discovered.
One time Myungjun forgot to mute his mic and swore up a storm that shocked even Sanha when he was murdered — by Dongmin.
“Hyung,” Bin protested, “way to ruin things for Dongmin.”
But Myungjun just swore some more, until Sanha and Minhyuk’s protests won out.
After a couple of hours, they were all gamed out, and they slowly bade each other good night and farewell, signing off one by one, first Dongmin and Bin citing homework, then Sanha and Myungjun complaining about being hungry, and finally Minhyuk, who wanted to knit a bit before bed.
Jinwoo was the last to sign off, and then he set his headphones carefully on their stand before he stood up and stretched. He decided he ought to go check on Minhyuk and see if he could be dissuaded away from knitting for a different kind of typing up in knots. Only he took a detour and looked up Dongmin’s very odd choice of screen name for the night.
And he burst out laughing.
Well, Bin was a poet, and he did always have a way with words.
Maybe after all this time, he and Dongmin were making another go of things.
Even if Jinwoo was dating Minhyuk, he had to admit that Bin wasn’t wrong about Dongmin being callipygian. All those times Dongmin had given himself screen names that essentially translated to Butt-min on account of the others making fun of his ass, he deserved a compliment about something other than his face now and again.
Fill: Astro ensemble, background established JinRock, implied Binwoo
His little on-screen avatar was green. He made the little crew member run around in a circle.
“I’m MJ!” Myungjun’s avatar was orange and wearing bat wings hat. Over Jinwoo’s headphones, his voice was clear as a bell, but Jinwoo had invested in expensive gaming headphones for a reason.
He smiled fondly at the screen, amused by his best friend’s antics.
“I’m DalKong!” Bin cried, making his red crew member run laps around the waiting room. The little cartoon creature was wearing a hockey mask.
“That mask is scary,” Minhyuk said. His voice, like Bin’s, was slightly tinny, but where neither of them were professional gaming streamers, neither of them had invested in good mics, not like Myungjun and Sanha.
“Which one are you?” Sanha asked, as if it wasn’t obvious.
“Oh, this is me.” Minhyuk’s avatar was blue, and his screen name was the same one he used for everything. “I’m Rocky.”
Said avatar was waiting patiently in the middle of the room.
“Of course you are,” Bin muttered.
“Yah! Yoon Sanha, keep on with the roll call,” Myungjun said.
“I’m Ddana!” Sanha chirped, his avatar yellow and wearing a pink flamingo on its head. Then he added, “I don’t see why we have to do a roll call. It’s not like anyone’s watching.”
Where Minhyuk occasionally assented to streaming with Jinwoo, Bin and Dongmin weren’t interested in their gaming skills being broadcast for the internet to see.
Still, when gaming together, some protocols were to be observed.
“That leaves Dongmin,” Jinwoo said. As their leader, he had to make sure everyone understood the ground rules before the game started, to effectuate as satisfying a gaming experience as possible for all involved.
Dongmin’s avatar was a lighter shade of blue — dark cyan? — and wearing a very classy top hat. “Here I am.” He made his avatar zip back and forth.
“How do you pronounce that screen name?” Myungjun asked. “Ka-lee-pie— eh?”
Jinwoo could picture Myungjun’s puzzled head tilt.
“Tonight,” Dongmin said, “I am Callipygian.”
“What happened to EongDongmin?” Myungjun asked. “Or some other eongdeong butt-related pun?”
“Or a ding-dong pun,” Minhyuk suggested.
“Binnie picked this name for me, and I said I’d use it,” Dongmin said primly.
“Bin-hyung?” Sanha hooted. “You let him pick your screen name?”
“What does it mean?” Minhyuk asked.
“I know!” Myungjun cried, with the totally unwarranted confidence of someone who was the worst of their friend group at English. “It’s like Calliope, from Sandman. She was a poetry goddess.”
“Dongmin-hyung doesn’t write poetry, though,” Sanha pointed out.
“Bin does. Is Dongmin-hyung your poetry goddess now?” Myungjun’s tone was full of innuendo.
“No, that’s not what it means,” Dongmin said. “If you really want to know, look it up yourself. I want to play.”
“You just want to beat Minhyuk, since he’s the only player you can beat,” Sanha said, teasing.
“I’m getting better,” Minhyuk protested.
“Farming doesn’t count,” Bin said.
The truth was, Bin and Dongmin were about equally good — or bad — at games, and there was no guarantee that Bin would beat Dongmin.
Among Us, however, required deception, and Minhyuk was a terrible liar — in person. Over voice chat, where others wouldn’t be able to see his facial expressions or nervous tics, he had a chance to prevail. Also, Stardew Valley with its farming tasks and map navigation might have helped Minhyuk build the skills he needed to complete tasks aboard the spaceship — or chase others and kill them on the sly.
“Now that everyone is here and we are clear on each player’s name and color, let’s begin,” Jinwoo said, and started the game.
What followed was about the level of chaos Jinwoo had expected, everyone running around and trying to complete their shipboard tasks, be it rewiring panels or committing murder on the sly. Unfortunately for Minhyuk, he initially didn’t realize he could still complete tasks even as a ghost, or that he could use vents to get around the ship when he was the impostor, so he struggled for the first few rounds. Meanwhile Bin had forgotten to mute his mic, and he giggled nervously whenever he killed someone.
“Bin-ah, mute your mic,” Dongmin hissed, but it was too late. The impostor had been discovered.
One time Myungjun forgot to mute his mic and swore up a storm that shocked even Sanha when he was murdered — by Dongmin.
“Hyung,” Bin protested, “way to ruin things for Dongmin.”
But Myungjun just swore some more, until Sanha and Minhyuk’s protests won out.
After a couple of hours, they were all gamed out, and they slowly bade each other good night and farewell, signing off one by one, first Dongmin and Bin citing homework, then Sanha and Myungjun complaining about being hungry, and finally Minhyuk, who wanted to knit a bit before bed.
Jinwoo was the last to sign off, and then he set his headphones carefully on their stand before he stood up and stretched. He decided he ought to go check on Minhyuk and see if he could be dissuaded away from knitting for a different kind of typing up in knots. Only he took a detour and looked up Dongmin’s very odd choice of screen name for the night.
And he burst out laughing.
Well, Bin was a poet, and he did always have a way with words.
Maybe after all this time, he and Dongmin were making another go of things.
Even if Jinwoo was dating Minhyuk, he had to admit that Bin wasn’t wrong about Dongmin being callipygian. All those times Dongmin had given himself screen names that essentially translated to Butt-min on account of the others making fun of his ass, he deserved a compliment about something other than his face now and again.