Goof Patrol, ROLL OUT [Dev, Rome]

Devon was excited. There was a visible buzz about the Brit all through the day at work as he impatiently waited for the evening to arrive so he could go and play with his friend and his friends-friend. He felt like a teenager again, waiting for class to end so he could go to the arcade or the mini-golf course and unwind and, quite possibly, stir up some mischief. It was a fantastic feeling, and his spirits were high as he raced home and quickly showered and changed before heading over to Ferris' house.

Dressed in sensible loose-fitting jeans, a subtly patterned navy shirt that only had a few paint smudges on it and his painted converse, Devon chattered easily on the drive over to the centre and shared the jammie dodgers and custard creams that Cade had sent over for him. Devon's big brother had also included a small parcel for Ferris, filled with chocolate and jaffa cakes, along with a note saying 'thanks for keeping him alive'. Devon had given it to Ferris before jumping in the car, pouting over the note, but the mini-sulk hadn't even lasted until the car was properly on the road and off.

The Brit was very much looking forward to meeting Ferris' other friend, but he was a little wary under the outward bubbling excitement. Even if he did sound pretty interesting in terms of the things he liked, he was still a shrink and they tended to be hardly the most fun people in the world. Devon had always cared a little too much about what people thought of him, even if it didn't always come across (particularly when he was tipsy), and in his experience most shrinks tended to be the dictionary definition of judgemental. It of course didn't help that his last run-in with a psychiatrist had hardly been a thrilling experience.

Once they were in the centre Devon smiled brightly to the introduced stranger and held out a hand in greeting. “Heya Roman, good to meet ya. Ferris was tellin' me about you on the drive up.” The grin turned mischievous. “Don't worry, there was some good in with all the bad.” At Ferris' vote Devon nodded in agreement. He knew he was hardly a pro at mini-golf, but Devon had always been fiercely competitive and was never going to turn down such an open challenge as that. “Bring it on, sunshine. I'll wipe the floor with ya.”

Ferris thought it was privately hilarious that the most aggressively enthusiastic people he knew were a lawyer, a psychologist, and a computer teacher. Devon came close to being on that list, but that night at the bar had puzzled him. Not enough to question it, but enough that he was relieved when his friend seemed back to normal. He didn't eat much on the way over, thinking he ought to concentrate more on driving, though he did snitch a custard cream. The package from Cade went in the back, though Ferris had seen both an email and phone number on the back of the card.

He was all grins when his two friends met, and had been more or less blowing air out his ass when he said he'd beat them. Ferris hadn't played mini golf in more than a decade, but who cared?

Putting on an exaggerated thoughtful face, he said, "Make this interesting? Why Dr. Tilford. Are you suggesting the winner of this game get say, twenty bucks, and the loser is horribly punished? Because if you are I'm totally for it."

Entering, Ferris looked around feeling ready for anything and spotted the mini golf area. In no time they were paid up and each had a club and ball. Ferris's was red. "So who goes first?"

Devon's cocky attitude was all show, of course. He had an ego that could easily rival any celebrity and he adored having it stroked, but he tended to be not quite so arrogant about it. But it was a great feeling to be taking time away from the school and he was in very high spirits, and so he saw absolutely no harm in hamming it up for the entertainment factor.

“Very good friends, or the greatest enemies to ever walk the face of the earth.” Devon gave the psychologist an amused sideways grin and shrugged. “But I'm sure it'll be a lot of fun either way.”

The Brit was hardly an amateur at humiliating dares and embarrassing scenarios, both with coming up with them and having to carry them out. He'd never quite lost that 16-year-old mentality, that joy in the bizarre, the bold and the suggestive. Still, it had been a while since he'd indulged quite so outwardly and he twirled on his imaginary moustache as he pondered a suitable forfeit for the loser. “Hmmm... I'll need a moment to chose the perfect something.”

After Devon had made his attempt he gave an elaborate flourish of a bow, not really caring that he hadn't actually managed to sink the ball. “I do. If you're very lucky I might even let you help me pick them out. After I've taken your money, of course.” Watching Ferris closely, Devon could tell already that the chef seemed to have a better clue of what he was doing than he did. Ah well, he'd just have to be even more inventive than he'd planned...

Strange dares had not come into Ferris's life till he was working in the kitchens of Europe, a concept that ought to frighten all diners, but they'd been more of the sort to try this or that mixed together, various 'stay awake' potions, or if he could get meat or veg broken down in a certain amount of time. Ferris was aware he hadn't had a 'normal' childhood, but no time like the present to catch up, right?

He snorted at Devon's offer of drumstick shopping. "Right. That sound so exciting."

Like choosing a cabbage except with less drama.

“Ferris, I’m hurt you’re not shocked. Do I really strike you as that kind of person?”

Ferris grinned back, showing teeth. But he said, "Like I'd mini-golf with anyone less."

Since Dev was still thinking and they needed a punishment before someone was losing, he looked at Roman and made a gesture that said, 'out with it'.

After the child psych went, Ferris shook his head with a laugh. At least his turn came first. "I know if I was playing just against Devon the punishment would involve denial of pastry." Then he laughed again, remembering. "And just Roman, it would involve cleaning hundreds of glass animals."

Devon was up next. Ferris used his club to point at him. "Try not to embarrass yourself."

At the mention of the ‘Wentsworth cleanse’ Devon let out a bark of a laugh and shrugged his shoulders. “Y’should know by now I’m allergic to greenery. Even with all the crap I eat I’m hardly rollin’ down the hills. Clearly I’ve evolved beyond the need to watch what I’m eatin’.” Obviously Devon was just joking around, but he knew there was likely going to come a day when he regretted his lifetime of failing to keep an eye on what he was putting into his body. In the meantime, however, he was going to make the most of it while he could.

Listening to the suggested punishment, the corner of Devon’s lips curled up into a wicked grin. Oh, how grateful he was that he’d gone for looser, more comfortable clothing today. His voice was thick with amusement and just a hint of cockiness as he said, “sounds like a plan. I like the way you think.” As someone who’d never quite got the hang of shifting his clothes with him when he transformed Devon was fairly used to having items of clothing on backwards or inside out. Granted he normally caught on to it and was able to correct the wayward article quickly, but if he did lose here it certainly wouldn’t be the first time he’d wandered around in public with his shirt on back to front. He was just thankful he wasn’t wearing his rather closer-fitting jeans, because that would have required certain body parts to end up at angles they really, really shouldn’t ever be at.

Missing the shot because of the distracting putter was frustrating, but Devon really couldn’t hold onto the frustration and as soon as he saw Roman’s obviously guilty face he dissolved into laughter and gave a challenging nod of his head to the other man. “Right then, if that’s how it’s gonna be. Game on.”

As Ferris went to take his shot Devon took out his phone, for all the world seeming like he was just browsing his messages while he waited for his turn. When Ferris sent Roman’s ball rolling away down the course the Brit chuckled and he patiently waited for the psychiatrist to ready his shot. Juuust as Roman’s club was about to hit the ball, Devon pressed the large button on the web browser on his phone, the sound sudden and loud and hopefully enough to make the shrink jump and fudge his shot.

No one messes with a Wentsworth in competition-mode.