fandomhighdorms | 3rd Floor Common Room, Thursday Evening

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3rd Floor Common Room, Thursday Evening

It was definitely going to be one of those evenings. One of those weird ones. The sort that reminded unsuspecting passers-by that, in no uncertain terms, they were living on Fandom Island.

How did it manage such a thing?

Well, that there were two boys in the common room, exchanging gossip, probably wasn't all that new. That they were in their underwear, on the other hand, was probably an indication that things were a little off. One of the boys, the one who was wearing the world's most boring grey boxer shorts, was at least still wrapped in black leather from his nose down to his navel. The other, in white briefs, had his large white wings folded behind him.

Both of them were quite comfortable on the floor, surrounded by cushions from the couch, sparkly make-up, and girly teen magazines. Warren was painting his fingernails in a vivid shade of sparkly blue. Jono was hugging a pillow to his chest, reaching over occasionally to pet a bewildered kitten with a big pink bow around her neck, while reading off the questions to an 'Is He Really Into You' quiz to Warren.

By the end of the quiz, it became apparent that whoever 'he' was, they simply weren't as into Warren as he might have hoped, and with an indignant squeal of "Omigod! Not fair," the winged one capped his nail polish, reached for his pillow, bounced to his feet, and let Jonothon have it.

Oh, it was on.

[I totally blame

glacial_witch and

trigons_child for this one. The common room is open, for anyone who wants to either rescue the boys from this indignity, pull out a video camera, or join in the pillow fight!]

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Wesley was just stepping in to make some tea, but this was... thoroughly unexpected. And mildly horrifying. He'd never actually seen any gremlin victims around Fandom, so he had no idea that that was what this was. But he was the supernatural expert, after all, and this seemed... abnormal.

"Er -- Warren?" he asked, gingerly taking a few steps in the direction of the madness. "Are you feeling quite all right?"

"Who? What?" Oh, Warren looked so confused. And maybe a little scandalized.

Yep. Just give him a moment. And there was a shriek that made him fortunate to have that healing factor, because that had to be rough on the vocal cords.

"Eeeee, it's a boy! Ohgodohgod don't look at me, I'm in my PJs!"

//See,// Jono intoned helpfully, //this is why boys don't like you.//

"Shut up!"

Right, yeah, that was... not... good.

Wesley was helpful, so he tried to explain. The kid managed one demon hunt and he got all cocky. Go figure.

"Er -- see, I think it's possible that the two of you aren't quite acting the way you... ah... normally might," he explained. "This is... rather atypical for you."

Imagine that.

"Well, normally I'm wearing more," Warren replied, completely matter-of-fact and not at all aware of just how accurate that assessment truly was. "And I have my face all made up. God, I don't even have my mascara on! This is, like, so embarrassing!"

That was quite true, Warren did usually have more on. But not... mascara. Oh, dear lord, that was a horrifying mental image and Wesley wanted it out of his brain as soon as possible, thanks.

"Right," he said. Huh. Yeah, there wasn't really anything he could do about this, was there?

"Well, you see," he said, still trying and failing to be of help, "this may not make a great deal of sense to you, but it's possible that tomorrow you'll be quite, er, embarrassed about what is currently happening." Yes, Karla, that meant you. Taping it? That was just mean. "Perhaps you might want to, er, resume the pillow fight in your room? That way no one would see the, ah, lack of... mascara."

It was still horrifying.

"Oh, come on. You can't tell me that you didn't see the girls-only signs on the doors!"

The ones that weren't there, yes. Those were pretty difficult to miss, right?

"I bet you just came in here to see us girls doing our girl stuff."

//I bet he totally wanted to just see if he could hear us talking about him,// Jono offered, helpfully, from where he was standing.

Wesley was kind of cute, okay? If Jono was batting his eyelashes at him from across the room... well... At least he was slightly more clothed than Warren, right?

Oh, dear lord, that was one of the most disturbing things ever. Okay. He was just going to go ahead and pretend he hadn't noticed the eyelash-batting going on, because, wow, awkward.
"I did no such thing!" Wesley protested. Then, clearly thinking he was about to make a breakthrough, he reasoned, "I... didn't see any such signs, but then, I often overlook things of that nature. Perhaps you could show me?"

And that would stop the, er, girl stuff. Hopefully.

//Oh, I can! I can!//

Brace yourself, Wesley. Jono had graduated right along from eyelash batting to running across the room and making a reach to hold your hand. Because clearly, that was the best way ever to show you where things were!

//They're right over heeeere!//

Oh.

Yeah.

That was... No.

Wesley did his best to extricate his hand from Jono's before some kind of hand-holding-triggered apocalypse could happen. "Right," he said, surveying the invisible signage. "Yes, er, thank you, Jono."

Hopefully he didn't have a new name like Jennifer or something.

//Joanne,// Jono corrected, without missing a beat. //Hiiiii.//

... And more of that eyelash thing. At least he had very expressive eyes?

"Joanne and Wesley, sitting in a treeeee," Warren taunted in a singsong, before squealing and making a grab for his pillow again. You never knew when something was going to get thrown at you, around here!

The eyelash thing, while a sign of very expressive eyes, only compounded the horror. Not to mention the introduction of the kissing song. That was not something he needed to hear. And he certainly didn't want any rumors getting back to the girlfriend. That would be difficult to explain.

"Er -- that'll be quite enough of that," he told Warren in his best attempt at being firm. He prayed that that wouldn't have any effect on their, er, feelings toward him.

Really, with as amorous as Jono was trying to be, at least a little effect wouldn't do any harm, right?

//I made the signs myself,// he intoned, deciding that giving a still-singing Warren the cold shoulder was absolutely the best response, here. //With sparkles.//

Oh, well, if the effect was to minimize their affections, that would be fine. But tragically, it didn't seem to be working out that way.

"And they're quite nice," Wesley replied politely. Then the implication of that comment hit him and he quickly tried to backtrack. "Er -- I mean -- they're horrible! Yes, truly, er, dreadful," he decided, trying to be convincing here. "Far too, er, sparkly. Yes."

On the upside, at least Jono wasn't batting his eyelashes anymore? No, no, he was totally looking fretful, now, like perhaps he could burst into tears at any moment.

//... Do you really mean that...?//

"I told you you should have used the scratch-and-sniff stickers instead," Warren offered, from not far off.

But... but now he looked so sad! No matter. Wesley had to continue with this. To what end, he had no idea.

"Er. Yes," Wesley said, trying to be forceful. "Yes, it was... dreadful. Not at all artistic. The color ratio was all off."

Dear lord, he hoped Jono thought he'd used colors.

//But... but... Purple and yellow are complimentary,// Jono protested, wide-eyed.

Really, if he could cry, he totally would be. Fortunate, weren't you, that his body wasn't there enough to allow for certain functions, huh, Wesley?

//I didn't think you were so mean! Meanie!//

"Told you," Warren intoned, solemnly. "He's just a jerk."

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"I am making certain that they have this to see for when they are back to themselves," Karla said, from her perch in the air. She might have heard Wesley's judgey narrative or something. "I have a very good reason for that, too."

She hadn't figured it out yet, but it was true!

"Oh?" Wesley asked, barely containing a snicker at the continued ~~horror~~ activities that were going on. "And what might that be?"

THERE, Karla. Think on your feet.

SHE WAS A QUEEN, WESLEY. MAKING DIPLOMATIC SHIT UP ON THE FLY WAS AN INBORN TRAIT.

"I need to show them the internalized, prejudiced views that they have about young females," she replied promptly. "Obviously."

...

Well said.

"And will there be any strictly entertaiment-based screenings of this important film?" he inquired, still trying to keep a straight face. "Just out of curiosity."

One of the benefits of living in a matriarchy.

"I don't think anything with a message like this could ever be truly for entertainment," Karla said with all due gravity. "But I do think it's important enough to be shown to others who can possibly learn from this."

"Like a social networking site?" he asked, almost grinning now. "I suppose there might be quite a few people on Facebook who could profit from this, er, highly important cinematic marvel."

Assuming that Karla used Facebook, which Wesley certainly did not. And he certainly didn't check it regularly. That would just be silly.

"Is Facebook like Friendster?" Karla asked. "I just discovered that site the other day on the Google. It looked neat!"

At least if it were posted there, no one would ever actually see it?

"I imagine they're about the same?" Wesley guessed. Being from 1999 and all, he had no idea. Not that that could quite compare to Karla's timeline displacement.

"But I would venture that your, ah, documentary should stay off of either one," he added. "After all, this was really quite traumatizing for those unfortunate enough to see it live."

The horror, Karla. The horror.

"I don't actually know how to put it up there, anyway," Karla assured him.

And she wasn't about to jeopardize her newly-acquired 'back in his good graces' status over it. Not that she was necessarily going to say that aloud.

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