"They live in a quiet little town, but they are anything but quiet. . .introducing Cashmere and Gloss Rebek!" cried the announcer, doing a little sidestep to let them waltz in. An uproar came from the direction of the audience and they smiled and did their corny little bows.
They were both dressed in running shorts and tank tops. Her hair was pulled back, and his was neatly combed and gelled. You could see the tone on his biceps and you could see her stomach definition through her shirt.
"So, Gloss, Cashmere, do you think you can win?" the announcer asked them when the applause had died down.
"Yes," Gloss said. "Of course!" He spread his arms apart and the audience laughed with the announcer.
"Cashmere?" the man asked.
"Yeah. We wouldn't be here if we didn't think we could kick ass."
The announcer started on his intro for the episode while the cameramen shuffled around, moving closer to them. For what's essentially a game show, there was a lot of maintenance.
"Fall-Off is an intense fight to victory between teams of two. Times are compared fairly and extra points can also be given for compassion for your teammate, the most epic fall, getting through a certain amount of obstacles without falling, and, of course, the number of times we have to censor something on your body!" The audience laughed and Cashmere leaned up against the pillar awkwardly.
"Candace, how much are the winners of season four eligible to win?" His dark-skinned assistant walked past him holding a giant check. Seventy-five thousand dollars was a lot of money. Money that they needed to win. Who wouldn't want to win it?
Everybody wanted it - twelve different teams, twenty-four different people. . .but they knew they were the only ones strong enough to win it.
"That's right, seventy-five thousand big ones!" the announcer shouted. Candance left the stage and left the man to finish.
"Cashmere, Gloss, are you ready?" he asked. He ran a hair through his hair and put the microphone in front of Gloss.
"Of course!" the boy shouted. A rope ladder to the first obstacle dropped in front of him.
"Yes," Cashmere said when it was her turn. The ladder dropped in front of her, too.
"On your marks, get set, go!" the announcer called as they both clamored up the ladders, their eyes set on each other.
"Gloss," she said to him.
"Cashmere," he said back, glancing up to the platform that marked the first obstacle.
They weren't very high up, so they heard the announcer laying off facts about them. "The first-ever brother and sister duo on this show!" he said, then said their ages and showed their parents cheering them on.
She gritted her teeth and pulled herself onto the platform. They were just massive monkey bars. She made a wild leap for the first one, caught it, and dared to look down. There was a sea of mud beneath her and if she fell into it now, it would crust and she would never get clean. As she was swinging to reach for the second one, she saw Gloss pulling himself onto the platform. He ran forward, caught the bar, and swung onto the next one. It wasn't really fair - he was much taller than her and had much longer arms. He gave her a hand and she took it, hanging onto her brother for dear life. He swung her onto the second bar.
The announcer might say something about how "Gloss is just doing it for the bonus points, what do you think, audience?" but she knew it wasn't true. Gloss wasn't like that.
On they went like this, until Gloss slipped and Cashmere found herself trying to pull him onto the next platform. The second obstacle was much easier - just a long balance beam with water shot onto it from all sides. She dropped to her knees and gritted her teeth. The pain was more than she expected. Right now she found her wondering what the announcer was saying. "Gloss. . .be careful. It hurts." She crawled forward and squeezed her eyes shut. It just. . .it hurt too much. She found herself wanting to fall off and wade through the mud to the next obstacle. Gloss crawled much faster then her and Cashmere had to force herself to charge forward so as to not inhibit them. She ached all over when she stood up and took Gloss's hand at the end of it.
She wondered what her mother was saying now. They were strong enough for this. The first one was always the hardest, the second one the painful one. . .the third one was the gross one. Sticky and gross and eugh.
They made their way through a small room of fog and found steps at the end. Steps without a railing that fell into the same mud as all the obstacles did. They climbed them two at a time and found a house of mirrors.
"I hate these things," Gloss remarked. Cashmere nodded along but stepped in. Her foot immediately landed almost ankle-deep in a sticky green fluid, like mud - but mud dried. This was never going to dry. It was sticky and gross and a little bit wet.
She didn't want to continue. Trying to find her way through this thing was a hellhouse - they were probably getting fourth or fifth anyway and she just wanted to give up.
"I don't want to try anymore," she told him. He put his hand on a mirror.
"After the next one, we're done," he reminded her, reaching for the one beside it. Except there was nothing, and he toppled out of the massive room.
Cashmere glanced down at him. He was gone. All she saw was a large black mat. Television shows aren't allowed to kill people - real people, at least - so she pitched herself out of the room after him. She found herself grappling for something, but she found nothing. Then she hit ground - it didn't really feel like ground, not at first, because it wasn't. She was launched back up into the air and found herself reaching for something again.
She yelled a curse word loudly. "Cash?" Gloss shouted, from a distance. She couldn't see him - the whole room was quite dark.
Their hands met in the air and they braced for landing, trying not to bounce anymore. They bounced a few more times, just a couple feet, then stopped.
"Let's get out of here. This was a bad idea. I hate this."
They felt along the wall for the exit. Gloss found it then called for Cashmere. They left together, green gunk on their feet, hands together in the air.
"Thank god. That was awful. I hate this."
They didn't win,. They got fourth, which was the worst thing possible, really – they didn't get a prize. How awful.
Author's Note: Total crack. Written for level two of the Caesar's Palace 'Challenges by the Dozen' challenge.