You are Charles Cornelius Gibson, and you are, for all intents and purposes, just one of the crowd.
As usual, it is the two at the table who hold all the focus. Your peers and co-workers, yes. Your friends, possibly. Defining 'friends' has never been a main concern of yours, and you tend to assume that anyone willing to spend extended periods of time with you could qualify. Recently, though, you've been wondering how true that is. Ever since the 'Nora incident', you've found yourself spending more time with the iCarly group - enough to be classed as a regular on the show - and, it seems, they are pleased to have you. Mostly.
Because of course there's always... her. The blonde-headed demon, the terror of Ridgeway, the girl who's broken bones you didn't know you had (although frankly, given how much you know of the body, this isn't an incredible achievement). Sam Puckett is, and always has been, brash and violent toward you if you dared so much as breathe near her, and as far as you can tell she hasn't changed her opinion of you to the extent that her fellow hosts have. Even now you're trying to appear equally supportive toward both combatants, because you know who's going to win and you don't want to get on her bad side. It's the unspoken rule: Sam Puckett does not lose. Although now you come to think of it, Sam does tend to mention it when riled up, but it's certainly unspoken by you. That still counts, doesn't it? For now, however, she is calm, cocky, even bored, as she sinks into her chair and waits for her opponent to join her. Her sing-song voice rings out as she waits, which seems both in-character but also strangely unlike her. You expected more of a brusque jab than anything else. Still, it's sufficiently Sam-like that everyone takes it in their stride.
Her partner in combat is different today as well. Gone is the nervous, scurrying boy who flinched at every glance, the obsessive nerd who loved his technology almost as much as his crush (although that was debatable). Sure, he is still a nerd, but only on the inside - his body had matured and he had matured with it. Now he can stand in the full force of the death-glare and feel nothing, instead playng to the crowd as he rolls up his sleeves and shows off his biceps, eliciting small sounds of surprise and admiration from his gathered audience. He stretches almost mockingly as the blonde watches him, her eyes dull as she waits. Eventually the order "Sit down, boy!" is snapped at him and he takes the hint, reluctantly releasing the hold he has on the room. As he sits opposite her, the third member of the group moves to the table as well.
The third member being the eponymous Carly. Of the three you've always held her to be the nice one, and you are sure that no-one would disagree. She always falls into the role of mediator between her two warring friends, and today's fight is no different as she clasps their locked hands in hers. You find yourself impressed by the unique power she holds over the wrath that is Sam Puckett, even in somethng as simple as armwrestling. Had you taken her place, you have no doubt that Sam would have ignored you and started when she was ready, possibly after throwing a punch at you for standing too near, but as it is she is waiting for Carly's signal before making her move. The angry blue eyes are poised, ready for action as they search for a signal. Freddie, meanwhile, seems more focused on the job at hand. You find yourself willing him to win, even though you know it could never happen. Yes, his arm is thicker, more muscular, while Sam's is still as thin as it had always been, but you know the strength that lies behind it as well as he does, having been on the receiving end more times than you care to remember.
Carly releases her friends on each other and steps back, and in a moment it's over and Sam has won. Of course. As much as you would relish Sam's loss, you know that you will never see it happen. Still, Freddie has scored a small victory in having bested his own record against her, and he seems pleased enough. You didn't notice how he held on slghtly too long, how he looked back at his rival in search of a compliment, some encouragement, anything. You're Gibby, and it passes you by as you're caught up in the celebration. You remain behind as the crowd dissipates and share a celebratory fist-bump with him as she gives a deadpan congratulations. She seems almost disappointed by the outcome, but you think nothing of it - after all, any victory for him is a loss for her.
Besides, you've noticed who just walked into the room and you're hoping for first dibs on the fudge.