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Could it be the liquor? As you rise up from your chair, you feel light-headed. Dad motions to rise, but you deny him, easily communicating -you- will get the door (without a word uttered, at that). Stumbling to your feet, you're treated to the sight (and, sadly, feel) of Bulbmin leaping up your chair to mount your hip and shoulder and climb up toward his usual position on your head.
Re-balancing for this new (still occasionally unfamiliar) weight you move toward the kitchen window.
There are two of them. You make out the broad frame of Clyde, that dark-haired square-jawed dream of many stupid girls and living nightmare of too many studious boys (he does, of course, consider you one of those "nerds" - because of course he would). And next to him stands Jamie; a statuesque dirt-blonde in sporting fatigues, she is relegated to her status as your sister's friend through no fault but her own, for while she's well-developed, debonaire and stylish, she's a total ditz. Mordo, perhaps thankfully, is nowhere to be seen, and neither's Steve, who usually is their fifth man when they lay it onto you.
You hear your sister's voice from up the stairs: "... here to congratulate-" but your mother cuts her off: "I don't believe you, Rachel. It will be some time till you're believed again." - "But, MOM!" - "Don't you 'but, MOM' me, little lady. You have overplayed your hand."
Instead of actually getting the door, you opt to move around the back. Somehow you struggle for balance a couple times. Is this what alcohol is like? It doesn't matter. You feel terribly courageous for some reason. As you clear the rear-lawn shrubbery, the distant sound of the bell resounds. "Dwight, will you get the door?" - "Don't worry, treasure, Max is on it!"
And as you round the house, you're face-to-back with your tormentors.
>Start a conversation with the benefit of surprise (Social roll, 1d100)
>Order Bulbmin to attack them (Another 1d100)
>Tell them police has been called and see if they'll git (You guessed it, 1d100)
>Ask where Mordo's at
>Strike Clyde's dumb head off, you can do it damn it all (Drunk Teen roll, 1d100)
>Other (Write-in)
