Fandom High Dormitories

Unfortunately, it would take a lot more than the threat of losing funding to allow Britta Perry to be able to take this sort of fascist regime to take over, even if only for a week. She regarded the uniforms with complete disgust, seeing them as nothing more than symbols of conformity and the loss of individuality for the mindless monotony demanded by the Man to ensure that no one had their own brain, personality, or even fashion sense. This was not going to stand. Oh, no. Not while Britta Perry had anything to say about it.

The smoke bomb had been a failure, but Britta was sure that this protest would be more effective...and more important. Uniforms! Ha!

Needless to say, Britta was not wearing her uniform. In fact, her uniforms were piled up in front of her on the ground.

"We will not be confined to the strict and starchy guidelines of uniformity!" she called from the front of the dorms. "We are not clones, but human beings! We are not factory made cogs to fit into your machine, but people! Down with your pre-fabricated attempts to make us all mindless blank slates to serve the one percent! This is America, not Communist China! This is the Land of the Free, not the Land of 50-50 Cotton-Poly blend! I reject your pathetic attempts to make us conform and substitute it with anarchy of my own! Behold!" She held up her lighter in triumph. "This is what I have to think about your fascist dress code!"

And this was where she was supposed to ignite the lighter and set the flame to the uniforms and send them up in a glorious blaze of revolution, but her thumb seemed unable to spark the flint. "Damn it!" she said, giving the lighter a shake and trying it again, to no avail. "Why isn't it working?"


[[ stop her. please. ]]

Britta was not on the roof. It was a shocker, to be sure, and it had nothing to do with the fact that she was broke and totally out of both cigarettes and pot. She supposed she could go up and wait for someone and bum a smoke from them, but that seemed just pathetic.

So she was bumming in the common room instead, a bag of baby carrots in her lap and the remote control in her hand, as she flipped through the channels, looking for something interesting to watch. She wasn't expecting to find anything, and her steady commentary supported this fact.

"Crap," she said, changing the channel. "Crap. More crap. Capitalist crap. Ugh, misogynistic crap. Feminist crap. Crap. Crap. Crap."

"Ugh. Where's The Real World?"

One day, Britta might stop expecting it to still be 1997. One day.


[[ open common room is open. duh-doy! ]]

Slumber party. Guy party. Whatever party. Britta would have much preferred to have hightailed it to New York for a real party, but she didn't want to run the risk of missing the bus on the trip next week, since that was really something she would probably do. She definitely wasn't going to a slumber party. She might try to crash the boy party a little later on her way back inside, but right now, she was going to just have her own party, which involved her very last bag of pot.

...She was really going to have to figure out where she was going to score some more. But that was a worry for another day. Still, she decided she wouldn't be stingy on sharing if anyone else decided that they were too cool for the other parties, too. After all, for all that she had accomplished that week, there had still been nothing that involved getting high and then making out...


[[ OPTION C. HIPSTER!BRITTA FINDS GENDER PARTIES TOO MAINSTREAM. ]]