"What's 'MLG' then?" Mike asked in an attempt to stir-up conversation, "Is it related to 'MLP'? Like 'My Little Girl'? Hahah..."
Fred just stared.
"Major League Gaming, Michael. Real gaming. Real, in-depth, calculating, tactic-driven, intellectual sportsmanship."
"So what, like Chess?"
"No. Ugh, you just don't get it."
From behind the door slammed closed; the last gust of fresh outdoor air instantly becoming sullied with stale stank. Mike curtly stood aside as the wobbling, greasy body mass that was Fred waddled passed, perching his gigantic rump on his PC chair. The compressed-gas cylinder sank dangerously low upon taking its owner's full-weight, and Mike took a step back in fear of it exploding. It took him a moment to recall why he was even there so early in the day, with Fred being a grouch.
"Okay man, so... are we doing this?" Mike's voice was tentative, like a child asking if they could open their presents early.
Fred groaned. "I GUESS so. It better not take long, I plan on sleeping at some point today. There's only so much Bawls one can consume to stay awake."
"...Consume what? Oh, you mean that Guarana energy drink?"
Fred heaved a sigh, "Just go. Sit there on the floor." He pointed to a spot on the worn, brown carpet. Mike obliged, sitting crossed-legged like a preschooler.
"So just to confirm... this IS safe, right? There's not going to be any weird side effects?"
"Heh, getting cold feet are we?" Fred smirked, turning his chair around to face Mike. "Didn't you say just yesterday how you wanted this forever? Surely any side effect would be a bonus?"
Rubbing his neck nervously, Mike carefully worded his response. "Yeah... I just don't want to... get hurt. Is all." Fred brushed his concerns away like old cobwebs.
"Trust me, you're in good hands my friend. I've intensely studied the pony form and I think you'll be pleased with the result. Now, if you would just shut up a moment, we can start this. Remember our deal though: 4pm-6pm."