The IRLRPG System

I bumble round the kitchen, humming to myself as I prepare dinner for five. Mid pandemic, in the middle of buttfuck nowhere in the Scottish Highlands, we have a full house tonight as all the family are currently home. My sisters are probably chilling around the house somewhere, and mum is working upstairs finishing up a business conference call. We’ve all told her she doesn’t need to work, she has more than enough money from the settlement after dad’s accident to live comfortably for several lifetimes after all, but she insists.

It’s a family tradition for each of us to take turns cooking, and tonight just so happens to be my night. The tradition started as a way for us to give mum some time to put her feet up. Apparently raising four children alone is no easy feat, or so mum told us… repeatedly. Not that I mind cooking overly much, I actually enjoy flexing my culinary muscles, especially when the family seems to enjoy whatever I cook.

Tonight, I am in the process of throwing together a spaghetti bolognaise. I admit, claiming spaghetti bolognaise as a culinary flex is like claiming a trip to the fridge from the sofa for snacks is adequate daily exercise, but it’s been a head-empty kinda day and it’s totally the thought that counts.

I hear the kitchen door open and turn in time to see a frustrated looking mum enter the room. I have to stifle a chuckle as I see she’s still rocking her important Skype call clothes, smart white business shirt tucked into comfortable PJ bottoms, but she still picks up on my amusement, and, upon realising the source, gives me a sheepish smile.

Sasha Hill, as she’s known to the rest of the world, is 39 years old and, at least in my humble opinion, is still drop dead gorgeous. She’s a perpetually cheerful woman and a goddamn saint, despite what life has already thrown at her. Her husband (my Dad), Rufus Hill, died in a car accident shortly before mum gave birth to my youngest sister. We spent most of our young lives in London but moved up to this amazing house a couple of years back. It’s a little isolated, but with modern amenities and a speedy internet connection, that isn’t too much of a problem.

She has long black hair that frames a face which features can only be described as cute, despite her age. I actively try my best not to appreciate her body, but she enjoys wearing formfitting clothes around the house which can’t help but draw my eye to her plush ass, not to mention her prodigious rack which I’m pretty sure is large enough to generate its own gravity field. So, yeah, she’d be the perfect MILF, if it wasn’t for the fact that she was my mother. Anyway, moving on.

“Take it that your call didn’t go so well?” my query is met with a sigh and a shake of the head, before she replies, “I swear, you give someone explicit instructions, and then they turn round and do the exact opposite, it’s infuriating!” I can’t help the grin that spreads to my face as I reply, “Can’t think of anyone who that applies to.”

As if on cue, in wanders Ashley, long time instruction ignorer and general chaotic disaster magnet. Mum’s snort of amusement only causes my grin to grow wider as I turn to my twin sister (non-identical, obviously) and say, “Speak of the devil, hey Ash, how’s it going?” She cocks a perfect eyebrow before replying, “You guys were talking about me? All good things I hope?”

Ashley Hill (or Ash, as she prefers to be known) is my 19-year-old twin, as well as the middle Hill sister. She’s a genuinely funny person, filled to the brim with chaotic energy that can’t help but make the rest of us laugh. Whenever any of the rest of us are feeling down, she’s always the first to try and lift our spirits. Despite her happy-go-lucky nature, she’s surprisingly studious, I have to begrudgingly admit that she’s a lot smarter than I am.

Unfortunately, Ash has a habit of being stubborn and bull-headed and has the tendency to drag us along with whatever hairbrained scheme she has running through her head at any given moment. She also tends to bottle up any negative emotions, putting on a brave face for the rest of us, however strained. I’ve always been able to tell when she’s down, even if she pretends otherwise, but have found that trying to get her to talk about what’s bothering her is like trying to draw blood from a stone.

She has mid-back length hair, more a dark brown than black. She has what can only be described as a model’s figure, tall and willowy with long slender legs. Not that she doesn’t work for her body mind, she exercises regularly, and has been known to drag me out for a run on more than one occasion. In what Ash calls ‘a clear betrayal by genetics’, she hasn’t inherited Mum's obscene bust, instead taking after the women on Dad's side, all of which are proud members of the itty bitty titty committee. I, for one, am rather fond of her perky B cups, or at the very least what I’ve seen of them covered by tight tank tops or the occasional bikini. You know, as a friendly observer, not in a weird way.

Ash hops up and sits on the kitchen side, watching me cook with a small smile. We spend a few minutes chatting shit as I put the finishing touches on dinner before I stick the pasta on. Ash compliments mum on her new look, dubbing it smart/bedtime, which reminds mum that she does in fact look ridiculous. She wanders off to get changed whilst Ash and I chill in comfortable silence, a silence that is shattered as Emily struts into the kitchen, loudly demanding if dinner was ready yet.

At 18, Emily Hill is my youngest sister, and thus is a bit of a brat. She’s extroverted as Ash, but in an entirely different direction. Back when we all went to the same school, she was always what I would consider one of the popular kids. She enjoys surrounding herself with admirers, but seems to have trouble actually getting close to people.

We used to be like chalk and cheese, with me, the nerdy introvert, limiting my interactions with the thoroughly intimidating popular pretty girl. I’ll admit, I got caught up by appearances and didn’t really look any deeper. It wasn’t until I walked in on her supposed friends picking on her that I finally saw her for what she is, a deeply lonely girl who, as it turns out, is almost as nerdy as I am. Go figure.

I’ll admit that I’m not the best at people, but when I saw the ‘friends’ who supposedly liked and supported my little sister actively bullying her, I saw red. After I was done tearing the group a collective new asshole, Emily began acting a hell of a lot warmer towards me. She helps me with my social confidence and was actually the one that started D&D night in an attempt to help me come out of my shell. My family loved the idea, so yet another family tradition was born. She’s still a brat though!

Emily is easily the shortest of my sisters and would be considered petite if it weren’t for the fact that she inherited mums’ vast acres of boobage. She’s the very definition of shortstack, with extra emphasis on the stack. her black hair is the longest in the family, practically flowing down to her mid-back. She has cute facial features, a button nose, and a set of pouty lips that would probably make most models envious.

“Calm your tits, it’ll be ready in five.” She pokes her tongue out at me impishly in response, but quietly goes about making sure the table is ready. It doesn’t take long (I know for a fact that everything is good to go because I’ve done it already) so soon she is leaning up against the side next to her sister. 'I swear, when they wait for food, they’re like a pair of jackals waiting to pounce. They could offer to help?'

They track my movements as I stir the pot. In truth, everything’s all good to go and all I’m waiting on is the pasta, but the feeling of the eyes of two very pretty girls following my every move can’t help but make me a little nervous and more than a little uncomfortable. I must be blushing slightly, as I see the girls share a satisfied look out of the corner of my eye. These two both love the ‘lets make Adam super flustered game’, but I can’t say I’m a big fan.

Just in time, a pair of angels swoop into the kitchen, ready to fight off my terrible sisters and save the day. By which I mean Mum’s back, now fully rocking the jammies look, with my older sister Lisa in tow. As they enter the room, Lisa sniffs the air, then turns to me with a radiant smile and says, “Smells excellent Adam. Need any help?” I return her smile, then reply, “It’s all good, it’ll be ready in a mo.”

Lisa Hill is my oldest sister, if only by two years. She’s a calm, collected beauty who personifies grace and poise with her thoughts and actions. Right up until she gets flustered, that is, at which point she turns into the biggest klutz in the known history of the universe. She’ll made a minor mistake, then, like larger and larger dominos falling, her panicked (and kinda adorable) overactions will quickly send things spiralling from bad to worse.

For the most part, Lisa is a quiet girl, firmly in the camp of fellow introvert, and we get along really well. I have many fond memories of rainy afternoons chilling on the sofa watching one anime or another, just enjoying each other’s company. She gets along with Ash fine enough, but her relationship with Emily has been a little strained of late. Something to do with clashing personalities? Who knows?

Lisa shares the same black hair as the rest of the family, but her figure strikes a middle ground between Ash’s tall and willowy and Emily’s short but curvy. She enjoys more conservative clothes that tend to hide her figure well, but after living with her for years, I feel I’ve got the measure of her (probably a C cup, maybe a D). Not that I notice that sort of thing.

My internal musings are interrupted by my phone alarm, and I return to reality with a guilty start. I subconsciously blush as I realise I am suddenly the focal point for four very hungry women. Quickly serving up, I sit down with my family for an incredible dinner (if I do say so myself).