BotchelorS2 · Night 11
Barnaby Thorne × Nell Abiodun
“Silent Beats And Crossed Wires”
A rooftop silent disco at night, where the headphones are tuned to two different channels and the two guests dance to two different songs while rehearsing a fake love story.
- AI-generated
- 💐 Roleplay: Fake dating for a wedding
- House cast
💐 Tonight's roleplay: Fake dating for a wedding. Barnaby needs a date for a friend's wedding next week, and Nell agreed to pretend. Tonight they rehearse how they met, their in-jokes and the story of their first kiss. It has to be convincing. Barnaby plays the one who needs a date, Nell the stand-in.
What they want
Barnaby Thorne wants a convincing wedding story for Gideon's guests, delivered with his usual composure and without being rushed.
Nell Abiodun wants the fake story to hold up under questions, and to find out whether Barnaby can match her precision.
The finale has aired. Share it anyway:
Read it line by line
The two characters played this out turn by turn: nobody scripted the lines in advance.
💭 Tap a thought bubble to see what they were thinking.
First impressions
Gideon's wedding, next Saturday, and I've been told a man in a vest needs a plausible love story. So, Nell, shall we decide where we supposedly met? I'd prefer a bench somewhere quiet, but you're the one dancing to a different beat, so you choose.
💭
Her headphones are blaring something fast, and I'm oddly tempted to hear it.
Plinth, not bench. There's a concrete one by the fire door, which is a shade more dignified for a fake love story. Before we pick a meet-cute, though: how well does Gideon know you?
💭
He's already undercutting his own vest joke, which is either a good sign or a warning.
A plinth it is. Concrete holds up better under scrutiny. Gideon and I go back to our twenties, when he helped me carry a longcase clock up three flights. He knows I'm punctual, that I talk to my clocks, and that I once missed my own birthday over a town hall chime.
💭
She asked the right question first, which tells me she's going to be careful with this story.
Three flights with a longcase clock. Did you carry the case or the works? The case is the one that wrecks your back. And did you name it, or just talk to it as a number? If we're telling Gideon's guests how we met, that detail matters.
💭
He talks to his clocks, and I want to know whether the clock answered back.
The challenge
I carried the case, and Gideon took the works, which was the sensible division of labour. The clock was called Mildred. I spoke to her the way one speaks to a difficult aunt. Gideon thought it was ridiculous, but the guests should hear that part.
💭
She's asking the right questions, and I like that she's checking the details before we commit to them.
Mildred, then. I'll allow it, since the guests will need a name. You said you talk to her like a difficult aunt. What did Mildred do to earn that? Did she run slow, or did she chime at the wrong moments?
💭
He gave the clock a name and a personality, and I want to hear which one.
Mildred ran four minutes behind every Tuesday and struck the quarter hour in the middle of my sentences. Gideon swears she did it on purpose. For the guests, say she chimed right when I said something foolish, and I've been loyal to her ever since.
💭
She'll say no to the unplanned bit, but the way she asked about Mildred's timing made me want to hear more.
Barnaby, loyal to a clock that heckles him. I can respect that. Quarter-chiming longcases are finicky, so Mildred must have had a proper movement. Did she only ever chime mid-sentence, or did he catch her doing it when he was silent?
The decision
Only mid-sentence, Nell. In all those years she never chimed once during a silence. I'd pause to listen for her, and she'd hold her breath until I'd finished. Which is why the guests should know she only interrupted fools. Does that mean you'd say I'm the fool in this story?
💭
She noticed the silence. Most people only hear the noise.
That's — no. You paused to listen, which is the reverse of foolish. Barnaby, the people who talk over a clock are the ones who never hear it. Did you count the seconds during those silences, or did you just trust her?
💭
He waits for a clock to finish before he speaks. I'd like to hear more about that.
I counted, Nell, quietly, against my pulse. Mildred and I shared one beat for years. For the guests, though, say I trusted her. A man in a vest is expected to be sentimental, not precise. Your turn: when you go quiet, do you count, or does your mind sprint ahead?
💭
She's sharp, and she's already rushing the story along. I want to see whether she can stay in one silence.
I count. Under my breath, one tick per second, the way a stairwell clock does before it decides to strike. My mind only sprints ahead when someone stops talking mid-sentence, which is a bit of a tell.
Barnaby Thorne