There had been an argument about whose place they were going to have the weekly movie night at—settled by arm wrestle, no matter how much Wheatley tried to protest that was completely unfair. It meant his apartment was going to be where they both slept when the case of beer they’d bought was consumed. Wheatley could almost predict the arm wrestling match that would grant Rick the couch and Wheatley the floor like usual. There had been one hell of an whine-fest in the middle of the liquor store as well; it was finally decided that as the guest, Rick would have to buy the case and the settlement on what kind was pretty petty. It was probably about the fifth time Wheatley fell for that ‘heads I win, tails you lose’ deal.
The worst, however, was yet to come because their Friday night had yet to come up to the video store. Immediately upon parking Rick’s old pickup, they both chimed, “My turn to pick!”
Suddenly there was a crackle of tension in the little cab of that truck, narrowed blue eyes met a challenging pair of green. Almost simultaneously, they both lifted their hands—Rick in an arm wrestle pose and Wheatley’s in a classic rock-paper-scissors one.
“Oh fuck no, we ain’t gonna play Rock-Paper-Scissors this time, you all ways fuckin’ win,” Rick protested with a slap of the steering wheel.
“Oh sure, like you don’t always cheat with this hole ‘My biceps are bigger than your head!’ business you always try to fool me with!” Wheatley shot back, mentally pocketing his scissor-ace-in-the-hole, “You said you’d go easy on me last time, too, bloody liar.”
“How ‘bout a coin toss?”
“Oh stuff it, I know you cheat at that like the great arsehole you are.”
Rick was silent—he didn’t deny he cheated flipping coins, now that they both knew he did— but he looked thoughtful, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, “What if I put a coin in one’a my hands and y’pick between—“
“Oh yes, give yourself another chance to pull a fast one on dopey ‘ole Wheatley; I’m not all that thick, I caught on to that one after the first couple of times!” Wheatley rolled his eyes, as if this was some great achievement.
“Look, the booze ain’t gettin’ any colder, why don’t… we jus’ go see what they got or summat?” Rick suggested, but was already getting out of the truck.
There wasn’t anything Wheatley could say to argue with that logic; there might not even be anything they wanted to see, after all. Well, that is if they could manage to agree on a movie, which wasn’t typically very hard. They had similar taste in entertainment, though Rick had far more of an affinity for things that involved punching and Wheatley more something that would make him look smarter. This, of course, meant that the moment they walked into the store, they moved to completely opposite sections.
Wheatley wandered over to suspense and picked up a copy of Inception. He read the back and was completely baffled; he had to see it now. Rick moved over to action and picked up a copy of Teriminator—one of his favorites, the really old one with Schwarzenegger in it in all of his buff, cyborg glory. They wandered back up to the counter reading the cover and finally bumped back into one another.
“Hey, what didja pick out?” Rick peered warily at the DVD box in Wheatley’s hands.
“It’s called… Inception,” Wheatley supplied, holding up the box and speaking in a tone that suggested it was mystical and mysterious in some way.
“Looks like a nerd movie.”
“Oh really look who’s talking, just how many times have you seen Terminator, Rick? Is it edging up toward somewhere near a hundred times yet? I lost count, mate, help me out.”
“Hey! Don’tcha dare go knockin’ the Terminator, Wheats, lest I go knockin’ ya in the head!”
“Uhm…,” the girl at the front desk interjected, boredly tapping her hand on her cheek, resting her chin on her hand, “If I could, maybe help you two out…?”
Instantly, they were both straightening up, on their best behavior; a pretty girl was talking to them, had to make a good impression.
“’Course, sweetheart, got somethin’ in mind?” Rick spoke up first, earning a bony elbow to the ribs from Wheatley who’d just sucked in the breath to speak.
The girl rolled her eyes and pointed to a display behind them, “Most guy pals like those kinds of movies, y’know, the buddy cop kind. Good cop, bad cop trying to figure out some murder mystery or some drug ring, stuff like that. Usually lots of that whole male bonding thing or whatever?”
They both turned to the display and sure enough there were titles like Tango & Cash, Rush Hour, and Lethal Weapon, they were both surprisingly interested, but none of them looked all too interesting or they’d both already seen an old movie like that… But they both spotted one called Hot Fuzz at the same time and reached for it simultaneously. Rick snatched it up first with a cursory ‘hey!’ from Wheatley, but he just smirked like a bandit and read the back. He snorted and passed it to his annoyed friend.
“It’s a Brit movie, now we gotta see it,” Rick laughed.
After a quick glance at the summary, Wheatley couldn’t argue, “Well well, I don’t have an objection.”
“Me neither,” Rick took the movie back with a bit of a fight, passing it to the desk girl who stared blankly at his shameless wink.
They walked out with a rejection from that clerk for both of them and a movie they were both happy to see. Never before was an decision made so easily between them and it wasn’t likely going to happen ever again, not with Wheatley losing the coin toss again to drive back—He’d never learn.