3rd Floor Common Room, Thursday Evening

[wwiii]

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!]

Comments

[chief-cheerio.livejournal.com]

"I think they're totally serious," Quinn said, shaking her head. She was kind of past reflexive snarking at George; she figured anybody she fought a minotaur with was okay. "I mean ... do you know them? Is this their sense of humor?"

[onapalebicycle.livejournal.com]

George held grudges longer -- especially ones that had no root cause to them except pique and/or jealousy -- but apathy eventually won out.

"Jono's my roommate," she said, "and no. He's very ... snarky and British and hates things. If he were ... doing this as a joke I don't think it'd ... be this enthusiastic."

[chief-cheerio.livejournal.com]

"They put something in the water this week," Quinn decided. "Did you see Ariel on Tuesday? She was all blah blah blah I am better than you square glasses at sorority. So not Ariel."

Slyly, she added, "You would have liked her."

[onapalebicycle.livejournal.com]

"Ugh, she sounds like a hipster," George said, rolling her eyes. "They're all trying way too hard. The square glasses thing can be pretty cool, though."

Well, it could.

"Grunge was at least authentic."

Pot, have you met my friend, kettle? You'll get along just fine.

[chief-cheerio.livejournal.com]

"Isn't grunge the one with flannel where people stopped washing their hair?" Quinn asked.

Ew.

[onapalebicycle.livejournal.com]

George did not look sulky, at that.

"I washed my hair," she pouted.

She wasn't touching the flannel point. She liked flannel. It showed everybody that you didn't give a fuck.

[chief-cheerio.livejournal.com]

"Not often enough, looks like." Oh, there was that old grudge. Quinn had intended to be nice, but if George was going to give her straight lines...

[I APOLOGIZE FOR HER.]

[onapalebicycle.livejournal.com]

George wasn't good at being nice to people. It was probably inevitable.

"I'm sorry, do I not fit the high grooming standards of Barbie Malibu Stacy?" she asked, with a fake-chipper air. "Now I'll never be Miss Harvest Festival."

(HAHAHAHA DON'T. UM. ALTHOUGH THE SAME GOES FOR GEORGE, HERE, OBVS. ♥)

[chief-cheerio.livejournal.com]

"There might be an opening in the sheepdog division at Westminster," Quinn said, mock-perkily. "Cheer up."

It had been too damn long since she was randomly bitchy; she was almost amazed it hadn't gotten rusty.