Prank Wars

I dove behind my desk, away from the hurling bombs. I grabbed some filled in a bucket, and hurled it at the enemy.

I gasped as a bomb hit my face. I touched my cheek and saw red on my fingers.

I was fuming. He was going to get for this.

Oh. Is this confusing? I better start from the beginning.

Rewind to one year ago, when I started at my new job at Rove, a world-famous game-developing company.

Ever since I was old enough to hold a controller in my hands, I was always playing games. Mario Cart, The Adventures of Zelda, Grand Theft Auto V, you name it, I’ve played it.

But it wasn’t just playing games that I loved doing. I loved the way that they made me feel, the trickiness of the puzzles, and overall everything about them. The way games stayed in your memory when you finished them. I wanted to become a game-designer for as long as I can remember. To make a player feel the same feelings I felt when I played games.

So I got a bachelor's degree in software engineering, design and multimedia. Then I applied to literally a hundred game-developing companies. I applied to some well-known ones that I was sure that I wouldn’t get into, and some not-so-well-known ones with minimum pay. So imagine my shock when I got into Rove, literally the first name you think of when you think ‘game-developers’.

There I was, standing outside the huge skyscraping building, with important looking people bustling past me. I just couldn’t go inside. Yes, I was scared and nervous, but most of all, I couldn’t believe I was here. That I was about to start working at Rove.

I felt my eyes welling up with happy tears. This is my life-dream, and now, I’m here?

Suddenly, someone pushed past me, making me sprawl on the floor.

The person swore under his breath, and held out his hand to me. I felt anger bubbling up in me. What, he seriously thinks I can’t get up by myself? Gender Equality, people!

I pushed away his hand, got up, dusted off my pants and looked up at the tall stranger.

He was at least a foot and a half taller than me (in my defense, I was pretty short), and he seemed the same age as me. He was an odd beauty. Don’t get me wrong, he looked nice.

He had dark blue eyes and messy white hair, curling at the ends. The stranger glared at me, as if I was the one who had pushed me and got us all into this mess.

Before I had a chance to tell him off, he walked off. Now I was really getting seriously annoyed! This was ruining my first day at Rove!

I ran after him, struggling to keep up with his great strides. Curse you, tall people with legs as long as the Empire State Building! Then he got into an empty elevator, and I jumped along with him.

I went to click the button for the 45th floor, but seems like he had gotten it already. I looked up at him. Was he a newbie too? What a coincidence.

We stood in awkward silence, on opposite corners of the elevator, listening to the soft classical music played in the elevator. ‘Fur Elise’, by Beethoven.

“So,” I broke the silence. “do you have the tendency to bump into innocent citizens and walk off without the slightest apology, or is it just me?”

The weirdly lengthy dude, turned in my direction and frowned at me. Then he opened his mouth. Oh finally, an apology.

“So,” he started, “do you have the tendency to stand in front of an extremely busy building, blocking the entrance for hundreds of thousands of people, and when one person bumps into you, you have a tantrum? Or is it just me?”

I stared at him, open mouthed. He had the guts to mimic me?

“Excuse me?” I scoffed. “What about that ‘hand’?” I mimed giving him an helping hand. “Do you really think that a measly woman can’t pick herself up?”

He furrowed his eyebrows.

“I was just trying to help you up.” he said. “But I’m sorry if that genuinely offended you. I did not mean it that way.”

I crossed my arms, contemplating what he said. He seemed to genuinely meaned that.

“Still does not make up for the lack of an apology though.” I hissed. Maybe he wasn’t a misogynist, but he should at least be polite.

I watched in fascination as his eyes became dark and gloomy, as if a storm-cloud.

“Thought I already gave it.” he muttered. I waited, tapping my foot. “Fine. I’m extremely sorry for bumping into you, and walking off without making an apology.”

Well, wasn’t the best apology in the world, what with dripping sarcasm, but I’ll take what I can get. I nodded in appreciation.

We waited for the elevator to reach our floor. The stranger seemed to be watching me, as if waiting for me to do something. I shrugged the feeling off, and plugged in my earplugs.

“Where’s my apology?” came his muffled voice, soft but still cutting. I removed my earplugs.

“Pardon?” I asked in confusion.

“Well, you were just standing in front of the most busiest and packed game-developing companies in the world.” he answered in a matter-of-fact tone. “Wiping your tears and emotion, or what-not. You could’ve at least moved to a side to let people pass through, you know.”

I stared at him in dismay. What was he talking about? And how did he know about my tears? Well, I can see the sense in what he said, but did he have to say it that way?

“Nope. Not apologizing for that.” I shot back, plugging my earplugs back in.

“WHAT?” His voice became louder in frustration. “I apologized, why can’t you? Is it a ego thing? ’Cause if it’s a ego thing-”

“I’ll have you know-” I started, to be cut off by the sound of the elevator doors opening.

“Oh!” came a loud and cheery voice. “My two favorite newbies! Come on in!”

We looked up to see Mr. Winterson, father of James Winterson, owner of Rove. Though James was the one who founded Rove, Mr. Winterson is the person who does all the interviews, for he is quite the expert in the gaming industry.

Mr. Winterson strung his arms around our shoulders, making us stumble, and dragged us out off the elevator, into a bright and modernly designed set of rooms. He took us to an office and told us everything we needed to know, from programs and software, to coffee breaks and donut hour.

Then he told us that we would be sharing this office.

“It’s quite a large space,” he began in his cheerful voice, “so you should both have a lot of room. You each have a table, a comfortable chair and state-of-the-art work laptops that you can take home. You may decorate as you like.” He stroked his greying beard as if he had forgotten something. “Oh! Let me introduce you two.” He gestured at me. “This is Annie Jenkins.” He gestured at the stranger. “And this is Lance Livens. You will be working together as colleagues. We thought you two would be a great match because of your great ideas and the ability to carry them out well. You both know a lot about design, and have similar backgrounds so you two should be able to work together on most projects. Well, that’ll be all from me, your first project will be sent by email, buh-bye!”

We stared with our jaws on the ground as Mr. Winterson left and closed the door with a soft click. Then we stared at each other. I gulped and sat down at my desk. He ruffled his hair nervously and sat at his opposite to mine. Then we started work.

The first few months were okay. As much as I hated to say it, Mr. Winterson was right. Lance and I did work together well.

If one of us came up with an idea, the other would polish it off to create a masterpiece. We combined ideas, traded strategies and swapped tips and tricks. However, there was one problem with our pairing.

We both had short tempers. We each got agitated really easily and would snap from good mood to bad in under one second.

“NO, NO, NO!” Lance shouted one fine day, slamming his laptop closed. “It works better with the yellow and blue aesthetic, as I told you. Why didn’t you listen to me?”

He slammed the door shut.

I was fuming. Yeah, maybe I hadn’t listened to him, and yeah, maybe he was right. But shouldn’t I have the right to try something new?

Then I had the urge to prank Lance. Like really bad. So I opened his drawer and squirted whipped cream from the office kitchen (honestly, it was like a five-star kitchen in there, equipped with a sushi chef and everything).

He came back and sat back down.

“Can you let me borrow a charger?” I asked him innocently, batting my eyelids up and down. “I forgot mine at home.”

“Idiot.” Lance answered, a little fondly. I was confused. Didn’t he hate me? Anyways, he opened his drawer without looking down and put his hand in there. Then he screamed.

“What did you do, Annie?” he screamed, running to the bathroom adjoining our office.

I fell on the floor laughing. I was still laughing when he came back. I took one look at his face, and fell back on the floor cackling. Lance, himself, was trying not to smile.

“I’ll get you back for this.” he informed me later as we were leaving for home.

And he did. And I pranked him again. And he did me. And this continued. Again, and again, and again. In fact, the whole office knew of our pranking situation, and would always watch us in amusement.

7 or 8 months later, we were both called into Mr. Winterson’s office.

“Ooh, what have you done now?” giggled his receptionist and my fellow friend, Lucy. I shook my head at her, holding back a smile.

But I did wonder what we had done when we saw Mr. Winterson’s unusually grim face.

“I’ll cut straight to the chase.” he began, seriously. Lance and I nodded. “We need to promote someone to become the Head of the section. We’ve both considered you two as most fit. However, we need to select one. We want you to select who the person is.”

We stared at him. Is this a joke? I gave a quick glance at the papers he had been reading. They were both about me and Lance. Nope, definitely wasn’t. A dream? I pinched myself. Nah, can’t be it.

I turned to see Lance swallow. It must be real. What are we going to do?

We shook our heads. Mr. Winterson looked at us, then sighed.

“I didn’t want to have to do this.” he sighed again. “We’ll then hold a probationary period over the next five months to see who we will choose.”

The next few months, our pranks dwindled. They became fewer and fewer, till we weren’t pranking each other at all. I found myself staring off into space more often. We didn’t work together that much as well.

The work we did was superficial. I couldn’t help comparing the work we did now versus the work we did together. The work we did together was infinity times better. Without Lance, the work I did felt lonely. And it didn’t help that Mr. Winterson was scanning our every move.

So I challenged him. I walked up to Lance and told him that we would hold the most epic prank battle and the winner will take the promotion. He agreed, but there was something sad in his eyes.

On the morning of the prank battle, we were both there early, war paint smeared on our cheeks. We did every trick in the book, water balloons, powder balloons, the blood prank and more.

But neither of us wanted to give up.

So we come back to the present.

“Lance!” I shout, throwing more balloons at him. “Just… give… UP!” I grab a bag of flour and throw it on him, making him cough.

“N… NEVER!” He tackles me to the ground, holding me still.

Then we stare at each other. I look deep into those inky-blue eyes and realize something. We both don’t want to take the position. We want to take it together.

Then I start laughing. He bites his lip, holding back a smile, then starts howling in laughter. We fall to the floor giggling at the non-sensical craziness of the situation.

“I… I don’t want to take the promotion without you.” I manage to gasp out amongst the laughter.

“Me… Me neither.” We get up simultaneously.

We open the door with a bang, ignoring all the employees who had gathered outside watching our fight through the window, who had wide eyes and open mouths at Lance’s flour-covered hoodie and at my ink-stained sweater. We sprint to Mr. Winterson’s office and open the door rapidly.

“Mr. Winterson!” I shout. “I don’t want the promotion.”

“Neither do I.” Lance yells. “If Annie and I can’t take the promotion together, then I won’t either. You’ve said it yourself at our first day. We work better together.”

“Exactly.” I continue. “We’d rather skip out on what could’ve been the greatest opportunity of our life than break a friendship that comes once in a lifetime.”

We gasp a breath after our speech, and look at Mr. Winterson’s wide eyes at our disheveled forms. For a second, he looks as if he’s about to have a fit. I wince and Lance covers his eyes.

Then Mr. Winterson starts to laugh. Big-belly bellows. He gasps a breath, tears coming out of his eyes.

“Oh,” he chortles, “to be a young adolescent again. Yes, I know about your chemistry.” Lance begins to cut in and I flush. “Shush children. That is why I was about to call you into my office to make you co-heads. You will have many other opportunities with your pairing, opportunities that will make you rich, not only in income as you are to see later. So, yes, you both got the promotion is what I’m trying to say.”

For a second, I’m not sure of what to say. A great cheer fills the air behind us. We turn to see all our fellow colleagues watching in suspense through the open door. Then I am lifted off the ground.

I squeal as Lance whirls me across the room in his arms, a bright smile filling his face.

“I’m so happy that I’m experiencing this with you.” he murmurs, sheer joy in his tone.

Then he realizes the gravity of the situation, and puts me down. He flushes red as a tomato, and clears his throat.

“Lance Livens,” I inform him, a smile forming on my face. “At the beginning, I thought you were a self-absorbed, money-loving misogynist.” His eyes widen. “But later, I found out that you’re the most caring, sweet and at times kindest person I know. I look forward to many experiences with you.”

I put out my hand. He smiles fondly, takes it and shakes it warmly. Then I take my other hand, and squirt whipped cream on his face. Don’t blame me, I had the bottle originally for the prank war, and I had to put it into good use. But as he smiled at me, I realized he knew what I had meant.

It was a reminder of our first prank, and the many pranks to come.