#Reds outfit is based on him technically being a student now so rip to him he has to wear a button up lol

[alastair-1205]

(Click for better quality lol)

If I had a nickel for every time I turned something that had a very basic design into something needlessly dramatic, I'd have a lot of fucking nickels.

Anyway hello AVM community, please accept my Red and Second being weird and using powers that are beyond their comprehension :D Their designs are VERY subject to change, especially the outfits lol. I still can't decide if the colored in version looks weird or not so I just put in both.

(The current designs are vaguely based on/ definately inspired by @milkie2 's ideas btw)

[trixcuomo]

Love Games

Up next on Desperate Alts’ Lives... Horde B celebrity Trixany Cuomo has finally pulled the lever to A-status, and now it’s like she’s fallen down into a black rabbit hole of gossip and dangerous glam, chasing her dreams. Is this it? Has Trix finally gone too far? One of her friends must be able to save her, but which are the right friends? Haris Pilton? Sig Nicious? Her Night Elf buddy Sharpen? Hopeless causes tend to want dark angels...

Jet black. Haris Pilton thought her once rival in all things, business, modeling, performing, climbing the Silvermoon City social ladder—Trixany Cuomo, soon to be Mrs. Sig Nicious—that Trixany would go with red for her own gossip closet. A cheery, and also dangerous color. But when they were done looking through Haris’s swatches months ago, under their new starlette truce of course, Trixany wanted her gossip closet in complete, knockout black.

Today, Trixany’s hand was on the lever, she just hadn’t pulled it yet this morning. First, she needed to gather all her targets. Haris’ pink knob was honestly so… odd. But Trixany chose a literal disco stick that reminded her of one of her favorite performers of all time. The part at the top was a classic disco ball with large tiles of glossy silver. The effect was going to take over the whole room whenever she was ready to ‘pull the lever!’ The first time she’d done it at Haris’ place was so fun, it was addicting. Yes, so wonderfully addicting.

Trixany crossed legs in her matching leather catsuit. The worker Gnomes with jumpsuits also piped in silver along the smart curves of their bodies? Still asleep. Trixany liked to get up before even they did.

She sat alone inside of the shell at the center of the room. Well, it was raised up for now, or else she wouldn’t be able to see or hear anything. The noise-cancelling, black ASMR shell-that-was-totally-not-like-any-other-famous-villain’s-personal-sanctuary-globe-thing-for-legal-reasons had its uses, just not right now. STNLAOFVPSGTLR or Stan’s Laff Vapors Get’er was a fascinating piece of technology engineered for relaxing starlettes exclusively. So it was perfect for a certain Horde B celebrity. Gotta love quirky Gnomish technology. The laugh vapors weren’t working so at the moment. They were also supposed to help her forget her stressors. Running low… White steam raised from the top of the shell and escaped through the gear-like teeth around the edges, wafting to the ceiling.

Gnomish technology to make you think, ten times, twenty times faster. Consider your options and get maybe twelve moves ahead of your opponent before they’re even out of bed, or grabbed their champagne brunch around 2 pm server… It was like farming for rares, from home, fast, and on felweed! But it was your frenemies you were felling.

Anyway…

The black control screens all around flickered with silent pictures of Trixany wannabes with their rip-off looks or performances, rival divas secretly being watched while they slept—and before you judge, Trixany felt justified; some of them were up in their own gossip closet war rooms, scheming against her even at this hour—and if you’re a true Team Trixany fan, then you also know about the runway fashion show footage Trixany had been streaming all week. All were designs from the newly launched, joint Haris-Trix fashion line. Haris had backed it financially, Trixany had endorsed it, done the leg work promoting and wearing some of the showstoppers. They had been raking in the gold over it until recently. Both their fandoms, for once, were united on the fashion line. Well, not all of the screens were filled with saucy models on catwalks. Trixany was also observing how each new outfit was being received in the market as it was launched, while simultaneously keeping an eye—with her special lace-lensed fashion goggles—for any rip-offs. New clothing that ripped off her rip-offs, if Trixany was every forced to be very honest about how she and Haris got all the designs—but that intel would only get forced out, by Goblin lawyers tougher than her own, in some inter-factional Azeroth court of law. Technically, they weren’t stealing other people’s ideas unless they got caught…

“I can’t stand this…”

Trixanys thoughts were moving more rapidly than she could speak them or even keep track of on her own. Inside the white-hot shell, little electronic flickerings along a web of wires and lights carried them away instantly, recorded them. The rest of the room was dark, so dark… But inside, Trixany was alone with her thoughts. Just merely thinking that she might sue someone for stealing her brand was stored in a databank the moment it occurred to her. A list of commands that would be sent to the ends of Azeroth to the Goblin lawyers, Horde or Alliance pop icons. (Don’t let them tell you Thrall doesn’t consider himself a Horde A celebrity… his gossip closet was rumored to be done over in the hides of his slain enemies, where no one could see of course.) And of course there were a clutch of thugs ready to ‘handle’ anyone normal out there without real connections. Quick, dirty, cheap.

That was the last bit of advice Trixany grudgingly took from Haris Pilton before she mastered the art of ‘gossip watching’ for herself. Before the student became the master. Now, on Screen Five, Trixany observed Haris in her bubblegum pink dressing robes having tea with her breakfast. Actually Haris had been doing that, and elegantly, for a while. A stray thought wondered if Haris had somehow found out about Trixany’s global network of hidden scrying orbs and had set up video loop clips at certain parts of the day when she didn’t want to be observed. And they were supposed to be the best of business partners…

A new, bright white bead of light raced around inside the shell and disappeared behind Trixany’s black chair. Screen Ninety-Eight suddenly flickered on and pulled up a list. White text against a lovely, rich dark screen. The words ‘Check up on Haris, the brat…’ already printing on a new line.

On mornings like this one, Trixany felt more Gnomish tech than woman. Sunlight… what a nice memory. Though they said something odd with the Scourge was going on outside these days. Maybe that was the real reason profits from their fashion line were slowing down? Who knew?

Trixany was a Blood Knight, had the skills of any paladin, she should have a lot of work to do with the Knights of the Blood Nexus, shouldn’t she? Shouldn’t Lady Liadrin call on her then? And beyond that, when was the last time she’d gone for a stroll—well, without Silvermoon paparazzi around her and Sig. And Sig? Sig Nicious, her fiancée… he kept postponing their wedding.

“You’re my butterfly, but it’s taking you ages to come out of your cocoon, do you understand? You’re not ontop of this celebrity stuff, Trix. I love you, but you’re just not there yet. You and Haris Pilton are friends now, why don’t you ask her for more advice? We need this to be a marriage of equals.”

Then Trixany’s own voice, it felt more like it haunted her above the constant jealous, scheming thoughts, it resurfaced. “No. I can’t do this…”

Trixany inhaled deeply of the white vapors, shut her eyes, shut off her deeper consciousness. Just a few more hours of this and she would finally be caught up with everyone else. Maybe ahead.

Caught up… Didn’t she used to like running, catching up with friends on long sunny walks? That time Sharpen took her to Highmountain, hiking so far her calves felt they would burn from sun and walking, she swore to him that they would, but he was too far ahead to hear her. Hear her catching up, catching her breath… that adorable fool.

A Night Elf man was suddenly there in her mind. Sharpen had carefully braided hair, long braids that fell over his broad shoulders. First in green, then in bright blue—he was wearing a “CYANS HAVE MORE FUN” t-shirt in one of her memories—and at last, his hair washed to a rich pink in her mind. Trixany knew all the shades Sharpen was trying these days, she’d kept track of them all, knew the brand, the shade, how many were left in stock…

Screen Fifty-Two flickered on, white lines over a dark surface, suddenly filling with numbers and a silent white web of locations united by lines on a map as a simple display of Alliance lands started to slide by. Trixany had wanted to know what her Night Elf friend’s new hair color would be, just a whim—but the gossip closet was already running the numbers, making a mathematical projection. Based on the number of colors left in the shops Sharpen frequented, the price point he usually aimed for, the favorite colors he was usually wearing.

“Forecast… 90 percent…Black.”

“Black? Really? Sharpen’s such an upbeat guy.”

Trixany hated knowing that. It depressed her. So her friend, who never had much money, who was just curious enough to try new things, not that he’d do it for a living and consult someone like she would… Sharpen was going to run into a wall soon with all the other options he’d tried, because cyan was his preferred shade of all the blues, and he’d already gone with the closest shade of pink-red her liked on his spectrum, and going back to green was too close to his natural color… The machine was printing all this detail as part of its proof… So he would feel bold—think himself just as bold as when he chose pink--and settle on black to surprise his friends. Black like her gossip closet. Black like… some big, empty hole. Trixany could no longer think it through. So she already knew what he was going to do? No surprises, no spontaneity? No reason to talk to him. She no longer had to see him to know what he was doing. It wasn’t required. He was a blip on a screen. And when was the last time she’d spoken to Sharpen, the real Sharpen?

What had he told her? Something silly about animals. Her eye twitched, she curled a fist as she remembered it. “Spiders aren’t supposed to be caught in their own webs, Trix. All these morsels you’ve ever wanted… they’re right there around you. Fixed in your web, you can have them all. But you’re still not happy. Shouldn’t you know why not? Can’t you tell? The old you would have just handled it, she doesn’t—or didn’t take anyone’s crap, whether from some monster down in a dungeon or… the well-dressed blonde bombshell kind.”

“Wait, do you mean Haris Pilton or Siggy?”

Sharpen shook his head at her, “Who are you, anymore?”

And what had she said in response to that? Sig was away from the dinner table at the moment, taking a call on his comm. “I don’t eat bugs, Sharpen.”

“No, but you do like to slay things. You like to find targets and take them out. Fix things for yourself and people, for the world, hell—for the Horde, however you think that still helps thew world. You have a sense of justice, or you did. You like to sit down after a battle, smile at how you’ve helped. But now you just look miserable. You even look unwell—”

“MAYBE BECAUSE I DON’T EAT BUGS LIKE SOME STUPID NIGHT ELF!”

Sharpen and Trixany hadn’t spoken to each other since. It was a bad, tragic gaffe to make at a busy, high-tone Dalaran restaurant. It was like… it built up and built up from… she didn’t know where. And then, like a volcano, the stupid, stupid senseless things she said just exploded out of her. Violent in its own way. It blew a hole clear through a friendship.

Trixany rubbed at the bridge of her nose. That time she and Sig took Sharpen out to dinner in Dalaran… Because Trixany had missed him. Because Trixany had hopped on a motorcycle and blown out of her own engagement party in Silvermoon City, at Sig’s place. Sig’s fancy place with all his perfect friends, all that flawless life. The pressure should have been off, she’d made it. She wasn’t a B-woman. She was A-grade. Like meat. No, an alpha, on top. She was a singer, and he was a singer too. Both of them were good people, actually decent. And he liked her, genuinely. It really felt like the lead singer of the Elite Tauren Chieftans loved her, truly, so why was she so distressed? Why did it feel like she couldn’t get a breath at times…

Trixany inhaled again, breathed deeply a few more times though it felt like she was panicking. “Why! Why is this happening to me?”

This was all she ever wanted, just like Sharpen had said. But it felt like things were hooked into her instead. Bleeding her dry. Trixany always assumed she would feel… filled up.

Filled up with things.

Things.

About forty models of all races, Orc, Goblin, Forsaken, Draenei, Gnomes, women and men of all races strutted in time across her control screens. Surely, they all had different music at their particular fashion shows. But fashion models all seemed to have the same unnerved strut. Now she saw it. They were all terrified of falling, of looking stupid. But they were charging through it while ignoring themselves. Completely disregarding their own fears, that they were hungry or tired, tired of all of it. Or, even if they loved what they did, it didn’t show in their faces nor their movements.

Maybe later. When it was all off, they could be themselves and just smile. Nobody smiled that they liked it while on stage in front of everyone, selling what was on their bodies. First rule of modeling. Since she got her start… in Goblin Gentleman’s Magazine of all places, that was always the rule. She would know. It’s not about you. It’s about what’s on you. Not what’s in you.

Never in.

“What if I’m just a pig inside?” Trixany frowned. “Scrying orb, play Gaga—”

The intercom interrupted what she was saying. A metallic sort of gnome’s voice said, “Visitor for Miss Cuomo.” Trixany hadn’t the heart to change her name over to Mrs. Nicious yet, when things honestly weren’t going well in that area of her life. He kept calling her his ‘butterfly’ yet she was still being treated like some slimy bug stuck in its pod… cocoon  thing.

“What level?”

“Popularity level three—”

“Oh, well then I don’t have the time.”

“Security level 50. Guest is Coco Cuomo.”

Her step-sister. Well what did Coco want? She rarely visited. “Let her in. And I still want you to play Gaga. Play Swine.”

As soon as the door slid open and the short green Goblin calling herself Coco Cuomo looked up and heard her new theme music, she frowned.

“Yeah, I know who’s a swine alright.” The little lime-colored Goblin girl smirked at her Blood Elf sister. Trixany stuck out her tongue.

“Um, can you at least turn down Gaga squealing out that ‘I’m so disgusting’ down a smidge? I came with some important business, you know.”

“Well, I should have assumed it would be about that. More Kaja-Cola crap? I thought I made it clear I was done with them--”

“Yeah right, when they were the ones who fired you? And who are yous, hangin’ out in hea like Darth Vader himself? Mrs. Hot-shot Sig Nicious herself, I see.”

“It’s not technically named for him so I can’t get sued—”

“Enough of this nonsense!” Coco threw her hands up. “This is exactly why I’m hea, you’re totally obsessed! When is your wedding even? Unless you’re really that low ya gonna invite the whole family and not me.”

Trixany snapped her sass-mouth shut, for now. “Sig and I are doing our best to make this… adjustment. I’m not used to being so famous.”

Coco just stared at her Blood Elf step-sister for a while.

“Swiiiiiiiine! Swiiiiiiiiiiiine!” The music started to rev up as if something was about to explode in that black gossip chamber Trixany had sealed herself in, like an enchanted tomb.

“Paint her face and, paint his face and, be a swine for… just the weekend!”

Coco erupted with new emotion, “People are dyin’ out thea, Trixany! And you’re in here plotting some… starlette’s destruction? I been trying and callin and sendin’ messenger pigeons up here for a week almost, so finally I had to come myself. I thought somethin’ real bad happened to you, all I wanted was to get you to hand over the damn Kaja-Cola Fiesta Lime contract for a damn good cause, I don’t care if you fell out with the Kaja-Cola Girls. I need your surplus stash a’ cans!”

Trixany just blinked at her. Three screens over Coco’s head started running a program, but kept coming up with repeating blank lines.

“Trixany, you really haven’t heard? You’ve truly been ignorin’ all the sufferin! We’re trying to FEED thirsty people on the front lines against the Scourge!”

“Oh. Well… I had heard whispers of that trending.”

“Trending? You’re supposed to be a PALADIN! Scourge slayer by birth or something. But you’re out here ruinin’ lives of the uppercrust like there ain’t a bottom to the pie—what’s happened to my sista! What is WRONG with you?”

“…You can’t feed thirsty people?”

“But I can bust up a thirsty trick!” Coco brandished an arclight spanner at Trixany.

“What did you just call me?? And how did you come in here armed?”

Now Coco was screaming it, “I don’t have a sista anymore. I can’t take it, I can’t stand it! You’re goin ta the Shadowlands to help with the fight, if I gotta killa ya and send you there myself! Then, Coco charged Trixany’s villainess globe, making her wild Kezani warcry.

“Yer just a pig inside a Blood Elf body! Time for you to squeal out!!”

[fruitful-blogger]

Flipping the Script

Check it out on AO3!

Part Two!

High School is hard enough for a goth kid, but Roman wasn’t one to let it get him down. After all, he had some great friends, including the smartest kid in the school, Patton, the star of the men’s Tennis team and teen heartthrob, Logan, and the most popular prep and student council member, Virgil, at his side.

 A High School AU with a twist – based on a Discord Conversation.

           Roman Prince was looking over his chipped nail polish with a frown. He had wanted to repaint them the night before, but he had been out of his preferred nail polish for the day – the silver and black combo that would have really brought out today’s outfit. His black and red hair was ever messy as a black leather jacket hung around his arms and shoulders, underneath a black t-shirt with spider-web design across the fabric. His ripped jeans were always on point, and his black convers were polished, if a bit distracting with the blood red shoe laces. His black and red back pack hung over his back as his headphones strung up through his pocket of his jacket to his ears, though he’d muted the music (he didn’t want to talk to anyone, really). While his nails were messy, his eye make-up was always on point, dark wings accentuating his eyes and a thin palour of lipstick to bring out his natural red tones.

           Even though he was a goth, a Prince has got to slay – as a dark prince, he thought double of that.

           Roman frowned at his cuticle again as he contemplated ditching first period to go to the drug store and get another bottle of his nail polish. It was only the first day, after all, and it was going to be boring anyway…

           “I see that look on your face, Princey, and whatever you are thinking, don’t.” Roman snapped up as he looked to the person who had addressed him. The boy before him was dressed like he’d walked out of a fashion magazine – crisp dark jeans nicely ironed, paired with a wine colored polo and purple-tinted suit jacket, all pulled together with his black and purple back pack and his loafers. His hair was messy in a way that seemed effortless even though he’d probably taken an hour this morning to perfect it.

           Most people would think that drama goth Roman Prince and Student Council Treasurer Virgil Smythe would NEVER, in a million years, interact – and they would have been right freshman year. The two boys had butted heads so many times that year, as the goth vs preps went, but all it took was the spring play of Aladdin to make them friends. Now that they were Juniors, Virgil was easily one of Roman’s best friends, and the prep would say the same of the goth.

           “I don’t know what you are talking about, Peter Prep.” Roman grinned as he pulled out his headphones. “I was just contemplating how BORING the first day would be and…”

           “And you can’t skip.” Virgil pointed as he nodded his head. The two began to walk around the school. It was still early in the day, and there were a few students there early with the teachers. Roman really hadn’t any reason to be there, but Virgil had just gotten out of a meeting with the other class reps. “So, the reps are talking already about the themes for Homecoming. It was a long-ass debate even though we aren’t voting on anything for a few weeks. And, man, the freshmen? Those adorable mofos have no idea.”

           Roman snorted in response as they rounded the school wall. A faint “THWAP THWAP” was heard now as they approached their destination. “Honestly, those fuckers have no idea. I mean, fuck, remember freshman year? You thought you were the shit.”

           “Oh like you’re one to talk, Prince.”

           “Careful, Prepington the third, sounds like you’re jelly.” Roman gestured to all of himself. “Although, anyone would love to be me.”

           “SUUUURREEE.” Virgil smirked. “So what WERE you planning?”

           “Nail polish run.” Roman noted as Virgil lifted an eyebrow. “What?”

           “Sorry, I just half expected you to try something like last year.”

           “In my defense, this school needs more blacks and reds. It’s so… pastel.” The goth made a face. “ SO overdone. You should put that into the bureaucratic mess we call a student council. More darks, more individuality!”

           “Yes, because we need more anarchy.”

           “Exactly!”

           “Hello!” A third voice cut in.

           Virgil and Roman looked up as they reached the small set of bleachers. At one of the top rows, surrounded by several books, was their resident genius and all around nerd, Patton Thompson. Patton had his usual light blue polo on with his pressed pants and simple shoes, a cardigan and matching tie with his outfit to pull the whole nerd look together. The goth and prep jogged up to meet him on the bench. Sure enough, he had a textbook on his lap, AP Biology, and he was already half way through it.

           “Hey Pat.” Roman greeted as he added a hug, the smaller nerd returning it even as he scrambled to get his books. “Uhg, what are you doing studying? It’s the first day!”

           “But it’s so INTERESTING!” Patton threw as he clutched a book to his chest. “We’re going to be learning about CRISPR soon enough, which would allow us to theoretically hack the human genome and eliminate disease! It does so by using the DNA’s own infrastructure to turn off genes that could potentially be harmful to humans, though there are fears of it causing more harm than good because it can accidentally delete more than just a single base pair.” The boy grinned. “But we won’t get too into that until Christmas.”

           “Patton, I was about to have a heart attack.” Virgil sighed as he sat on the bench next to Patton, butting shoulders with the blue boy. “I only read chapter one like Dr. Spencer wanted us to. You had me thinking we were gonna have a test on this tomorrow.”

           The nerd smiled back as Roman sat to the other side of Virgil, the opposite of Patton having a pile of books stacked there. “Sorry, you know how I am.”

           “And we love you for it.” Roman returned. “Especially because I suck at science and you are my saving grace.”

           Patton giggled as Virgil used their height to look out. They were stationed on the bleachers near their school’s tennis courts. While it was technically girls’ season, they weren’t to have practice until after school. Instead, the tennis storage unit was open and in the first court was a male figure, rushing back and forth as a ball dispenser sent out dozens of balls at him. The figure was a blur of navy blue, white, and silver – the school’s colors on a uniform, no doubt – as he expertly returned every shot.

           “How long has Roger Feder-Nerd been out here, Smart Cookie?” Roman asked to Patton.

           The nerd shrugged. “Logan’s been here longer then I have. I came early to go to the library, and he was already here when I pulled up.”

           “Jeez.” Virgil sighed as he stood, cupping his hands to his face. “LOGAN CROFTER PLEASE GET OFF THE COURT!”

           The figure paused, looking in their direction even as he deflected a ball. It somehow still went over, though it was no winning shot. “WHEN DID YOU GUYS GET HERE?” He yelled back as he deflected another ball. “WHAT TIME IS IT?”

           “TIME TO GET CLEANED UP, LO!” Roman added.

           The ball machine seemed to agree as it finally ran out of balls. Logan was sweating but easily jogged around the net to turn it off. Off to the side, a few girls oogled at the school’s star athlete. Logan stopped by his bag to throw his sports glasses in, instead replacing them with a simple wire pair. He dabbed his face with his shirt, causing the females to swoon at his abs.

           Roman bit his lips, wanting to badly to tell them off, especially since they had no chance.

           Roman and Patton were the only two in the school to now that Logan and Virgil were gay. While the latter two were more out about their sexualities – Roman would fight the man however he could, and Patton had, logically, figured that it was just a part of their brain chemistry and therefore was not a big deal. They didn’t shout it from the rooftops, but, if someone asked, they’d be honest.

           Virgil and Logan, on the other hand, had a harder time with it. Logan being the star athlete weighed on him, there being a certain expectation for them. While he himself had figured out his sexuality back in middle school, he hadn’t felt comfortable with anyone to tell them. It was only after freshman year when he’d become part of the group that he came out to them on accident. With an accidental pun (Logan HATED puns, but Patton had lost it).

           Virgil was another story. He’d let them know that, at the surface level, his parents were at least a bit homophobic, weather they acknowledged their homophobia or not. It also didn’t help that he was raised in, well, a more upper middle class society, so everyone tended to be more on the conservative side of things. While he knew his parents loved him, he was scared shitless to ever tell them or anyone else. He’d had a break down about it one day, when it was just him and Patton, and he’d finally told someone that he had never felt that way for a girl but he probably had a crush on a guy in their grade. Patton, Roman, and Logan were all supportive of him, though, and he came to them when his internal anxiety just got to be too much.

           While the kid seemed mostly together with a pretty ideal life, he was still a ball of anxiety under the surface. He was thankful, though, that he had friends like these to help him out.

           Virgil, in fact, was already up and jogging down to the court. He grabbed a second basket that stood nearby and began to help Logan clean, the two chatting. Virgil, like Logan, had grown up playing tennis, but the purple-wearing boy was on the JV team as opposed to varsity. The two had, however, become friends because of tennis and were the only freshman boys on JV all those years back (Logan, had, of course, been bumped to varsity sophomore year).

           Roman leaned back in his seat as he heard Patton’s many pens scratch the paper (his notes had a whole color coding system that Roman couldn’t hope to learn). More cars began to pull into the parking lot as the goth took in the day. It was chilly but sunny, and, while he loved his dark room and ambient light, he could appreciate sweater weather.

           “Are you two to join us?” Roman cracked an eye as Virgil and Logan approached, Logan with his tennis bag and back pack. Logan had spoken.

           “Give me a sec, kiddos!” Patton called as he scrambled to get his books into his backpack. He had so many, though, that there was no way the boy was getting them all into one bag.

           Roman stood, cracking his back as he grabbed both his and the abandoned purple bag left by Virgil. “Need help, Padre?”

           “Nah, I got it!” The small boy added as he huffed a few books into his arms. “I’ll drop a few at my locker while Lo gets cleaned up.”

           “Indeed, I should make my way to the changing room before class.” Logan added as he overheard. The two boys skipped down the steps before all four headed to the school. “Although I need to see the physical therapist again. My wrist is feeling odd the last week.” He noted as he played with his right wrist. “My serve is off by a few degrees.”

           “Well, from what I saw, you sure were SERVING up some ACE shots!” Patton giggled as Logan tried to hide a smirk.

           “Why am I friends with you?”

           “Because you love me?”

           “Debatable.”

           “Because I make cookies for the tennis bake sale?”

           “Ah, yes, there it is.” Logan and Patton shared a snigger at the comment.

           Virgil snatched his backpack from Roman as the two followed. “So, a little birdie told me that someone MIGHT try out for the hero this semester…” Virgil grinned to Roman. “What, done playing the villains?”

           Roman loved the stage, but he almost always tried out for the villain. He thought they were constantly underrated and pegged as evil when, in retrospect, they would be more morally grey characters. “Well… depends on if the play I want comes to fruition! You see, I think I can convince Larry to let us do Nightmare Before Christmas, and you KNOW I know all the Jack Skellington parts.”

           Virgil belted out a laugh. “Really? Because I thought you were just reading off cue cards every time I came over for movie night.”

           “Blah blah blah that’s all I hear from you.” He threw with a wave of his hand. The two were left bickering all the way into the school.

           It was just the beginning of another year at North Hamilton High.