Chapter 18: The One with the Game Night
Place Change: Monica's Apartment, April 1995 (POV: Rachel Green)
The air in Monica's apartment, usually a pristine, organized sanctuary, was currently a whirlwind of chaos and impending disaster. Monica, with a crazed glint in her eye, was meticulously folding napkins into the shape of swans for the upcoming game night. She was in a state of high-strung, culinary and competitive bliss.
"Okay, everyone, listen up!" she commanded, her voice sharp and precise. "The game night is not a joke! It is a serious business! We are playing games, and we are going to be professional about it! We are not going to just… just cheat! We are going to… we are going to win! We are going to show everyone that I am a competitive, professional game player! This is a serious business! This is… this is my future! My future in the world of games!"
Rachel, however, was in a state of pure, unadulterated dread. She was slouching on the couch, her face a mask of misery. She was not dreading the game night. She was dreading… her job.
"Okay, Rachel. Breathe. It's just your job. It's just a place where you have to work. It's just a place where you have to be. And it's just a place where you have to… be professional. Be a professional. Be a professional. And I have a plan! I have a promotion! A real promotion! At a real job! A job that has… a boss! A boss that I don't hate! And… and… Rachel. Oh God, Rachel. What if I mess it up? What if I say something dumb? What if I accidentally… say, 'I love you'? No, no, no, you can't say that. You can't say that yet. You have to say it… later. After the dessert. After the perfect, romantic dessert."
She was frantically pacing back and forth in Monica's apartment, her face a mask of pure panic. Chandler, who was dreading a date with Janice, was just sitting on the couch, shaking his head.
[SYSTEM: PLAY SCRABBLE WITH MONICA BELLUCCI AT GAME NIGHT, APRIL 5, 1995. COMPLIMENT HER WORDPLAY.]
Adam's eyes widened slightly. "Scrabble. Perfect. A little bit of intellectualism, a little bit of charm, a little bit of… a prank." He then discreetly reached over and, in one smooth motion, hid Monica's game pieces. He then grinned, waiting for the chaos.
"Okay, everyone," Monica said, grabbing her stack of game pieces. "Let's go to the game night of our lives! Let's go to… hey! What is this?! Adam! These are… these are not game pieces! These are… these are… coupons for a pet grooming salon! These are… a disaster! I have to go to the game night! I have to be the queen of the game night! And I have to get there on time! I have to get there on time!"
The group, of course, was in hysterics. Even Ross, who was moping, had to stifle a laugh. Chandler, meanwhile, was just shaking his head, a long, sarcastic sigh escaping his lips. "Oh, look, a prank. I haven't seen one of those since… well, since Adam put decaf in Monica's coffee beans. This is… this is groundbreaking. This is a game-changer. I'm going to go call my mom and tell her about this. She's going to be so proud."
Rachel, however, was in a full-blown panic. She was getting ready for a job interview. She was frantically rummaging through her purse, her hands trembling. "I can't do this," she stammered, her voice high and tight. "I can't do this. My resume is all wrong, my outfit is all wrong, and I'm going to make a fool of myself. I'm going to go in there and they're going to be like, 'So, what are your qualifications?' and I'm going to be like, 'I'm really good at making coffee.' And then they're going to laugh at me! They're going to laugh at me and then they're going to hire a man! A man who is not good at making coffee!"
The group just looked at her with a mixture of concern and amusement. Ross, meanwhile, just sulked. "You'll do great, Rachel. You'll do great. But you know, it's not really a job, it's a… a career. A real job. A job that a man would do. And I know a lot about… jobs. I know a lot about… everything. So if you need any advice, just ask me. I'm an expert on everything."
Place Change: Central Perk, April 1995 (POV: Rachel Green)
The air in Central Perk was a chaotic symphony of coffee grinders, clinking mugs, and the frantic, high-pitched whining of Rachel Green. Rachel, still fuming from the anticipation of her promotion, sat on the orange couch, clutching a mug of coffee as if it were a life raft in a sea of despair. She was trying to listen to Rachel's panicked monologue, but her mind kept drifting back to her job. The pranks. The smug smirk. The utter audacity.
"How dare they? How DARE they? I spent an hour trying to figure out how to avoid them. An HOUR. And they just… they just say they're coming to town! And they think they're so clever. They think they're so funny. Well, I'll show them. I'll show them what a real prank looks like. I'll show them what it means to mess with Rachel Green. I'm a master of revenge. A master of… sarcasm. And I'm going to organize their life into a series of horrible, terrible pranks. And they're not going to see it coming."
Rachel, meanwhile, was in the middle of a full-blown panic attack. "I just… I just don't know what to say! What if they ask me about… fashion? What if they ask me about… fabric? What if they ask me about… the difference between a high-waisted pant and a… a regular-waisted pant? I don't know! I don't know the difference! I just wear the pants! I just… wear them!" Rachel's voice was high and tight, and she was gesticulating wildly, almost knocking over a small pile of muffins on the counter.
Phoebe, ever the eccentric, offered her support in the only way she knew how. "Rachel, don't worry about it. Just think of the job interview as a performance. You are the star of your own play! And the director, he's not really a director, he's a… a magical unicorn. And he's going to give you a job because you have a beautiful soul! And… and you're wearing a beautiful dress! A beautiful, beautiful dress!" Phoebe then took a deep breath and looked Rachel in the eye. "And if he asks you about the pants, just tell him that the pants are a metaphor for the human condition. The high-waisted pants are a metaphor for our dreams. The regular-waisted pants are a metaphor for our… our legs. Our very, very regular legs."
Across the couch, Chandler was in the middle of a long, sarcastic monologue, aimed directly at Joey, who was still boasting about his game-playing skills. "'Joey the Game King.' That's what they call you, huh? That's what they call you because you play a lot of games. You know what they call me? They call me 'Chandler the Wit.' Because I am witty. I'm so witty, I can make a joke about you being 'Joey the Game King' for at least five minutes straight. And I'm not even done yet. So, I have a new nickname for you. I'm going to call you 'Joey the Loser.' Because you're going to lose all of your games to me. I'm going to play all of your games."
Joey just looked at him, his face a mask of simple confusion. "What? But I'm 'Joey the Game King.' You just said that."
Adam, meanwhile, was sharing his Scrabble plan with the group. "Wait, hold on a second. System, I have a new question. What's the optimal time for the game night meetup? I don't want to seem too eager."
[SYSTEM: OPTIMAL TIME IS 8:00 PM. MONICA BELLUCCI WILL BE WALKING THE RED CARPET.]
"I'm going to a game night," Adam said, a casual shrug of his shoulders. "A friend of mine has a new project out, and I just want to show my support."
Chandler, ever the mocker, just shook his head. "A game night? Adam, you're not a game night guy. You're a… a prank guy. You're a guy who puts coupons for pet grooming salons in other people's pockets. You're not a guy who plays games. The only game you've ever played is a game about a guy who has a dating system."
Just then, Rachel, who had been listening intently, just stuttered, "M-M-M-Monica Bellucci? Y-you're going to a game night with M-M-M-Monica Bellucci? The supermodel? The actress? The… the goddess?! Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!" She then, of course, spilled her coffee all over herself, which was a fitting end to a very, very chaotic scene.
Time Change: Game Night, April 1995 (POV: Rachel Green)
The game night was a blur of nervous laughter, awkward silences, and the scent of expensive perfume. Rachel, a woman who was used to the chaos of a sitcom, was a woman who was now a part of the elegant, professional chaos of a game night. She was wearing a tuxedo. A tuxedo that she had bought with her System money. A tuxedo that she was not going to be able to return.
She was sitting across from Rachel, a woman who was, in fact, more beautiful in person than she was on the screen. She was wearing a beautiful dress. A dress that was a metaphor for… everything.
"Rachel," she said, her voice a low, melodic purr. "Thank you for coming. It means a lot to me."
"Of course," she said, a small, sincere smile on her face. "I'm a big fan of your work. Your performance in this film was… it was a masterpiece. A masterpiece of… acting. A masterpiece of… beauty. A masterpiece of… everything."
Rachel just smiled. "Thank you. That's very kind of you to say."
The game night was a beautiful, beautiful thing. And then… and then it was over. And then it was time for… the prank. The prank that was a part of the plan. The prank that was going to make Monica so, so mad.
Place Change: Monica's Apartment, April 1995 (POV: Rachel Green)
The air in Monica's apartment was a comfortable, familiar mess, a stark contrast to the high-pressure world of Rachel's new job. Rachel, however, was in a good mood. A really, really good mood. She had just gotten off the phone with her boss, and she had gotten a positive review. A real, honest-to-god positive review.
"Okay, Rachel. Breathe. You can do this. You are a professional. You are a fashion executive. You are not a waitress. You are not a waitress. You are not a waitress. You are a… a success. You are a success in a beautiful dress. You are a success who is going to get a raise. And then you're going to buy a new dress. A new, even more beautiful dress."
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