Ruby "Roundhouse" Rogers was not a little girl. She was a twenty-five-year-old woman, goddammit, and deserved to be treated as such.
The weirdo-muscle-bound-freak, whose name was apparently Doctor-Smolder-yeah-right-Bravestone-cause-that's-likely, and his self-proclaimed sidekick, "Moose", had barged into Ruby's life much like a wounded rhino. Loudly, stubbornly, and with little consideration for her mental health. Also, they kept knocking shit over and not even offering compensation. Like, the fuck. Who does that? She spent years curating this collection and I-swear-to-god-Moose-get-away-from-that-right-now-everything-in-this-fucking-house-is-worth-more-than-you. Ruby silently wondered whether or not she would be worthy of being called "Killer of Men" if she didn't kill these morons in particular. The only thing keeping her from switching on her pocket radio right then and there was when Doctor-pretty-boy-Smolder handed her the envelope. Two weeks worth of negotiations, six kegs from her brother's alehouse, four stuttering professors and five hundred thousand dollars later, Ruby found herself wondering the same thing. Again. Why shouldn't she just kill them now? It wouldn't be all that difficult, just turn up the volume and see where the music takes you…
The music took her to the airplane hangar they were staking out until the-good-Doctor-Smolder's contact came through, an old dogfighter called Charles "Chuck" Kobb. Chuck was to get the still undecided group to the jungle in question. Jumanji.
They still weren't entirely sure who would be joining them. Naturally, it would be Smolder for personal reasons (read: unknown-vague-and-arguably-meaningless-reasons-no-one-wanted-to-talk-about). Plus Moose for emotional support (read: more-"personal reasons") and Ruby for impersonal reasons (read: bashing-heads-in). There were a few others being considered, including-but-not-limited-to: Rudyard "Tipper" Patches (AKA: The-Comms-Guy), Olive Park (AKA: the-Photographer-Lady), Professor Sheldon "Shelly" Oberon (AKA: the-Map-Guy), and Vincent Matthews (AKA: the-I-swear-I'm-not-an-Intern-Guy). Then there was still the question of whether or not Kobb would even show, and who would replace him if he didn't. They needed a pilot, and a war-dog was much better than some little punk who thought he was hot shit. If Kobb didn't show, they'd have to start back at square one with the pilot, and that could jeopardize funding for their already struggling expedition.
Apparently, the name was "Mouse", not "Moose". Mouse had been held hostage by some warlord in Peru for a little over a year, according to the tale Ruby had been told no less than seven times since they started the stakeout. He was just beginning to lose hope when *gasp* the Greatest Hero of All Time AKA Doctor-you-won't-believe-it's-not-Smolder-fuckin-Bravestone showed up out of the blue and dragged his sorry ass outta there. Maybe Ruby was being a little harsh, but c'mon. The guy's names were literally Smolder-as-in-that-weird-constipated-halfway-bitchface-people-sometimes-get-Bravestone-as-in-a-courageous-rock and "Moose- Sorry- Mouse". And they wanted to pay her massive amounts of money of dubious origins so that she would travel with them through a jungle she's never heard of before for seemingly no reason other than sex appeal? Yeah… That didn't sound sketchy at all. Nope. Not even a little bit.