fandomhighdorms

Terry wasn't feeling particularly emo tonight, but he did have a long history of standing around on high places and checking out the city below him. Of course, here he was only on the roof of a six story building and it was a town below him. But still, aside from that... and the old-timeyness of everything... and the lack of screams as people got mugged, this was all fairly familiar to Terry.

The one thing that wasn't familiar was the fact that he didn't have the Batsuit with him, so when he discovered that he accidentally locked himself out on the roof, he couldn't just easily pick the lock or glide down to the ground. As Terry saw the situation, he had four options. 1) Pick the lock on the door without any tools, 2) break down the door and explain the situation later, 3) jump off the building and break his fall somehow every couple stories on his way to the ground, or 4) have a seat on the parapet and enjoy a nice night for a while.

He chose to go with the fourth option. Given time, either someone would let him back in or he'd end up jumping off the roof in a controlled manner with less of a chance of being seen.

At some point, Terry realized that his life would be easier if he had more friends here and could confirm that they had cell phones.

[OOC: Technically a locked door post, but that's only from the outside. Roof is open in a more metaphorical sense.]

Rilla had intended to spend her evening cooking for her boys: Jem and Jerry in Flanders and Walter and Kenneth in training in Kingsport.

Instead she was shrieking at a goat and beating it with what was left of her cookbook.

"YOU SPIT THAT OUT RIGHT NOW! THAT'S MY SHORTBREAD RECIPE."

The goat was sad, so sad, but not letting it go.

Just another Thursday night in Fandom.

Terry had been here a couple weeks now. He had mostly kept to himself due to DEADLINE HELL thanks to still having various suppressed emotions about the way his social life was broken up by leaving the future. Between that and getting the Batcave better set up, he hadn't given himself much time to just hang out in a common room and maybe meet people.

Of course, that also meant he hadn't seen much TV from the present. And tonight he had options. He could either watch average-to-good singers perform in front of judges who seemed to be caricatures of themselves. Or he could watch a generic talent show in front of even worse judges. Or he could watch a documentary about Walt Disney and resist the corporate urge to mock it.

Or he could just flip through the channels randomly and refuse to stop on anything for more than 10 seconds max. Yeah, that seemed to be winning for the time being.

[OOC: Hey, I'm completely out of deadline hell for TWO WHOLE DAYS. I celebrate with a CR.]

The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the trees were swaying, sure: Atton could tell from his window.

All it did was make him decide it was time to stroll into a common room, ransack all the cupboards for something he could eat, and switch on the television. Maybe find a vid full of babes and things blowing up, like... okay, that one. That one would do.

He sat back with a bowl full of big flat crispy things. There. That would make this the least messed-up, twisted, unbelievably impossible thing that had happened to him since the weekend.

Sure, it wasn't exciting. But then exciting wasn't why he came here anyway.

[[ open! ]]

George had spent the weekend without hands and with hooves. For all the warnings Kenzi had given him, that had still been... an extremely strange experience. One that took a little recovery. Or at least a little head clearing time. So after a lazy start and a good breakfast this morning, he’d taken a bit of a walk through the preserve and found himself a candidate for practice.

Maybe it was weird that this was how he felt the most himself when he was raising dead things, but he wasn’t about to start reading into that at this stage.

Rather than take it back to his room, a quiet place on the lawn outside the dorms had been found, and he was repetitively seizing and releasing control of the bunny's unliving mind. As much as anything else, it had been a while since he’d done any practice, and he really didn’t want to fail out of Nancy's Mirror training because of something like that.

To the untrained eye it would likely look like he was alternately meditating and watching a very brave rabbit.

[[ open like a lawn, and George is interruptable. ]]

Yesterday, Frank had been decidedly troubled to find himself rather more equine than usual.

Today, though, he wasn't in the least bit troubled, because he'd thought a bit about spin. Sure, he had four legs and a (somewhat effeminate) tail. But he also possessed the capability to do things that he couldn't normally.

Like what, you ask? Well. Just look at the makeshift obstacle course he'd assembled for himself behind the dorms. There were things to leap over, brush to duck under, and a single sugar cube at the finish line. And Frank was going to run through this thing until he could do it perfectly, because.

Yes, he was a dork. Shut up.

"Oh, boy!"

When Butters woke up as a pony again, as he had that one time last summer, he was ecstatic, and he couldn't comprehend why anyone would be anything else. From the moment he stumbled out of bed, tripping on his own hooves, he knew exactly what he wanted to do and he wasted no time prancing out of the doors and onto the yard, where his boundless energy and excitement seemed to be on full display.

Butters was pretending he was a champion race horse, running back and forth. He nearly crouched down on one end of the lawn, wiggling his butt in the air before he call out, "And they're off!" and he barreled forward with loping steps, breathlessly narrating the excitement of the race until he reached the end and cried out, "And he's done it! The clear and unsurprising winner is none other than Butters Stotch, that fine stallion! Well, we know he'll be breeding with the finest filly in the stable tonight! Give us a victory lap, Butters!"

And so he did, mimicking the sounds of the cheering crowd as he pranced about until the next race.


[[ open lawn is open! ]]

Apparently it was some sort of a sin that Peeta had never had coffee or donuts before so he felt the need to rectify that. He had a little money to spend, spare change that his father had put aside from the bakery without his mother finding out. He had placed it all in a small leather pouch and snuck it into Peeta's suitcase, knowing Peeta wouldn't have accepted it any other way. Peeta had the intention of trying to find a job soon, feeling guilty about all the sitting around he had been doing since arriving here.

Right now though, he was gonna try donuts and coffee. He had the cashier at J,GOB help him pick out several types of donuts to try out and the barista at the Perk gave him a small caramel macchiato to try once he said he never had any sort of caffeinated beverage before. He brought the box and the cup back to the dorms because he didn't want the people that worked at J,GOB and the Perk to get offended if he didn't like the food.

He sat down on the coach and turned on the Food Network because it seemed like an appropriate channel to watch right now.

[Common room is open, of course]

Thelma Bates had settled in to the common room with a bowl of popcorn in her lap, and a small white dry-erase board next to her with a marker, just in case. With the TV tuned to a marathon of Bitterwoman, she actually felt rather at home.

"You know," she said, mainly just talking to herself, "I've always wondered why this show hasn't been remade with some sexy new star or something. Not that you should remake the classics, just a thought I've had."

She really needed to learn to stop talking to herself.

[ooc: Open CR is open.]

Just like he'd done a thousand times before, Topher walked into an empty common room, flopped down in front of the TV, hit the power button, and hoped it would give him something watchable.

It wasn't that much of a changer-upper, then, when instead of giving him something watchable, it gave him a spelling bee. Not even an impressive one. As far as Topher could tell, it was just a random elementary school.

After his fourth attempt to turn it off, he just left it on and ordered some wings, munching on them as he watched. Damn, those kids could spell.

[[idk. my sister is telling me a story about a spelling bee. OPEN LIKE A COMMON ROOM, anyway.]]

It was Mothers Day, which meant everyone--or, it seemed like everyone--was busy calling their mothers to wish them a happy Mother's day and make sure their gifts had arrived or whatnot. Anna...well, aside from the fact that her mother had died of a heart attack more than fifty years ago, and hadn't been much of a mother when she was alive, she had also . So no, Anna wasn't so much with celebrating Mothers Day. Instead, she found herself on the roof, sitting on the ledge with her feet dangling over empty air, gazing out toward the sea and trying not to think about her mother any more than she had to.

((Open roof is open!))

Some kids chose to lie in on a Sunday. Most, probably.

George was not one of the these kids.

One week down and he'd remembered and reacquainted himself with at least the basics of Broken technology: lights, kettle, toaster. Enough to make a passable breakfast and a mug of tea. The television still confused him somewhat, despite what he'd seen of it, and no matter, since he had no desire to watch people punch each other anyway. It was left switched off.

He had other things to keep him busy anyway. Spread on the coffee table along with his tea and breakfast were a couple of atlases. There were a few things he wanted to compare, and what better time to do it than when half the school was asleep.

[[ open common room! ]]

Peeta had almost been here for a full week and the whole thing still didn't feel quite real to him. Not living in fear was a new thing, and he wasn't quite sure how to react to it so he decided to settle down and do something familiar to clear his head. That something being baking, obviously. The kitchens were well stocked enough but the equipment was different than what Peeta was used to so he decided to stick with making cupcakes rather than anything too elaborate. The first batch was done and cooling and the second was almost ready to go in the oven. He was even making his own buttercream frosting because that can of pre-made stuff he found in the pantry was gross.

It wasn't so much clearing his head so much as it was a nice distraction, but he would take what he could get.

[Baking is so an identity. Open of course]

It was a nice day to be up on the roof. Warm but still not too hot for Natalie's taste. There was nothing weird going on in town, either, from what she could see. It looked almost normal, from up here.

Still, she couldn't quite say she was happy. There had been a feeling she hadn't been able to shake for a couple of days now. Ennui or homesickness or something else. She knew it would pass, because these moods always did. She just wished it would have gone away faster. She didn't have time to be feeling like this.

So, she was up on the roof, looking out over the town and smoking a cigarette that she intended to be her only one for now. Like she was willing her mood to be over in the span of a single smoke.

It was probably not going to work, but it was worth a shot.

[ooc: Open, naturally.]

Frank was trying to watch TV.

Trying being the operative word here. For one thing, he kept getting distracted by how bright everything was, bright and colorful, closer to real life than he could imagine television being. The picture even seemed clearer, sharper somehow than even a movie theater back home, but Frank thought that might be the awe talking.

But the main issue here, the reason why TV was giving him such a hard time, was because he couldn't for the life of him find any of his favorite shows.

Which was probably silly, since of course they weren't on anymore, it was 2012 and any shows from the 1959 lineup had long since run their course, but he couldn't even find any shows like the ones he knew from back home. There were no comedies starring charismatic male leads running flimflams and hijinks, no westerns about cowboy family life on Nevada ranches, no adventure shows about infiltrating opposing war bases, and...

"Oh, come on!" Frank complained. "Not even meta for Lassie?"

He took a breath. Sighed.

Then he called up the local pizza place he'd been fortunate enough to come across a delivery menu for, placed an order for a couple pizzas, and got to work familiarizing himself with what 2012 television did have to offer.

He was going to be here a while.

Since the attempts of getting a good photograph at work was pretty much a failure, Britta was actually feeling a little bit glad that she had oh-so-handwavily promised to show Frank the ball pit she mentioned at the picnic. She did wonder why someone would need to be shown a ball pit; it was pretty easy to find. But, on the other hand, she also wouldn't be surprised if Frank had somehow managed to hurt himself on a plastic colorful ball, so if anything, she was there to supervise.

"So, there you have it," she said, gesturing toward the large pit filled with balls, just as the name and her earlier description would suggest, "the ball pit."


[[ Frank modded with permission and open ball pit is so totally open ]]

Petra had come to the common room to watch TV while she did her nails, but she hadn't gotten quite as far as the 'doing her nails' part yet. This was because, while channel surfing for something to watch while doing her nails, she'd encountered a flashback. At first she just sort of stared at the TV screen, stunned to realize they still had boy bands in this dimension--she'd kind of thought they'd worn out their welcome years ago, and had frankly found that a relief--and momentarily insulted that the song implied that the only reason someone would wear makeup was "to cover up." Hello, maybe the fictional girl in the song just liked makeup. But then one of these babyfaced teenagers with hair that looked like a bunch of seagulls had attacked it earnestly sang that to prove he was right, he put it in a song, and the idea that being in a song made something right struck her as so funny the whole thing hit her at once, and she wound up laughing so hard tears ran down her face and she fell off the couch.

Okay. This wasn't exactly a flashback, although the terribleness of that hair was pretty familiar. There was the fact that, "You don't even dance!" as Petra hauled herself up via the coffee table to shout at the screen before collapsing with the giggles once again.

So, yes. Anyone entering the fifth floor common room, or simply passing by, would find a British boy band singing on the TV and Petra West laughing herself sick. Business as usual?

((I had to. Open common room is open. Come mock One Direction with Petra! Or defend them. Whatever floats your character's boat.))

Okay, Atton's enthusiasm about being anywhere not-Nar-Shaddaa had evaporated at impressive speed.

That was probably just because Atton was as Atton did, really. He couldn't exist for very long without finding something to complain about.

Still, the novelty of it all hadn't quite worn off yet; not that you could tell, by the way he had sprawled all over the common room couch, feet on the table, a bowl of some strange local snack food at his side and a bottle of let's-just-say-it's-pop-even-though-it-isn't in his hand.

Watching TV.

Something called Deadliest Warrior, as a matter of fact. "You call that shooting?" he said, digging his fingers back into the snack bowl. "Does anyone on this planet even know what a firefight looks like?"

[[ open! ]]

It was warm enough to head to the beach but Percy wasn't feeling like walking all the way into town today. He still wanted to be in the water but the beach meant sand in his shoes and salt water in his eyes. Of course, chlorine wasn't much better but it was closer.

So, Percy took himself down to the pool and, after stripping down to his swimsuit, jumped in. He did a few lazy laps, just enjoying how being in the water immediately made him feel stronger and more at home. After those laps, he let himself sink down to the bottom of the pool.

And that's where he was now, just sitting cross legged on the bottom of the pool, having no problems with that whole breathing thing.

Son of Poseidon and all.

[Open, sure]

Sia had expected something very different from this place, and so far she was pleasantly surprised. She'd feared that she would be secluded away and bored, and that her training would suffer in favor of being protected when she knew she was perfectly capable of defending herself. Instead she was taking classes that might be of some actual benefit to her, the, ah, relatives she had met so far weren't so bad, and finding the salle while exploring today had come as a relief.

She'd found some remotes in a locker somewhere and figured that if it wasn't guarded somehow, no one would mind her using one. And if they did, then they should have done something about it before she borrowed it. Then she set it up for some drills, pulling her hair back before igniting her lightsaber and getting to work.


[Open!]

A trip in to town to see about exchanging money had led to the discovery of a post office. Remembering his discussion with Stacey yesterday, he'd decided on a whim to check it out, and had been assured that, yes, despite the time difference, any letters he wrote would reach home. After all the strangeness at the welcome picnic, he'd been inclined to believe it.

And so he was in the common room, writing a half-dozen dispatches to various people back home to assure them that he was, in fact, alive and well. Just not where he'd expected to be. Once he finished those letters, he figured he could check out the television, since his previous experience with the device had been rather brief.

[ooc: oooopen.]

Truth be told, Fawn couldn't sleep last night. It was all too strange for her. Maybe if she had her own room, the attempt would have been more successful, but having to share a room with someone else, especially a strange boy, nice as Peeta seemed to be, was just weird. She tried, but spent most of the night staring up at the ceiling and wondering if she'd wake up the next day, find out that it was all just a big misunderstanding, that she got accepted to Performing Arts after all and, even though she didn't want to go there, she could come back home and everything would be set right. She ended up slipping out in the wee hours of the morning and had been gone exploring as quietly as she could since then.

She was extremely pleased to discover a stairway to the roof, though, reminding her of the stairway to the roof of their own flat in New York, in the converted factory building, and how she would sometimes spend time up there and how her father would sneak up there, too, though neither of them did so with anyone knowing. She usually enjoyed the height and the fact that it would be so incredibly easy to just slip right off the side if things got to be too much.

Things were definitely not that bad now, but Fawn found it nice to sit up there, forget everything that was going on underneath her in this new dormitory building, and she just watched the sun come up. After a while, she pulled out her harmonica and began to play, because it was just as easy to get lost in the music, and much better, besides.

She wondered if people could hear hear, down on the ground, or from their windows, across the island and the ocean or however far the wind decided to carry the long, soulful sound.


[[ open roof is open, of course! I got sent home from work due to rain, lulz. ]]

After calling Jaina to let her know that her great-grandkid or something had just showed up, Ben decided that his normally insane workout routine on the weekends hadn't been enough to get all of his repression energy out.

So he was back in the gym, hitting a punching bag like it had personally offended him.

It hadn't--no sentient gym equipment here today!--but he was giving it a good whalloping anyway.

[OOC: So very interruptable.]

Sure there was the welcome picnic today, but Cara was ambivalent on the subject of large social gatherings at the best of times.

Today was not the best of times. Not that she was letting herself actually think about why that was, since then she might actually have to deal with her feelings and where would we all be then. Instead she was indulging in her usual, healthy, coping method of hitting a convenient punching bag, and not stopping until she was too tired to think or two tired to raise her limbs to strike.

Whichever came first.

[Open gym is open as gyms are.]

It was Claudia's last night in Fandom.

She wasn't going on to do anything really Earth shattering. Tomorrow she'd be catching her regular portal to South Dakota and going to the Warehouse, like she did most Fridays, anyway.

She just wasn't coming back.

But that was tomorrow. And tomorrow was an eternity away. So she sat up on the roof, her feet dangling off over the edge, and stared out over Fandom. Even if she came back some day, she was never going to get this view again. Because tonight was her last night.

She was just going to South Dakota. She'd done way weirder things, and gone to way more dangerous places.

So why the hell was she so terrified?

[ooc: probably Claudia's last post as a student before swapping to alum status. Fridays are busy for me at work, so I may not have time to put her anywhere.

So, you know, open.]

Butters wasn't sure if he really liked this week. It was sad to see some of the graduates leaving like that, and then there was no classes so he even got just a little bit bored. Sure, there was plenty of stuff to do, but classes made it more interesting.

He thought maybe some television might help. Drag Race ended tonight, so he might finally get a chance to find out what Willem did! He was pretty sure it was killin' a guy, but only tonight's reunion episode would tell for sure! He was flipping through the channels to find something to distract him until then, and it turned out that he might get distracted enough to completely miss the episode later tonight.

"Oh, boy! The new SyFy original movie, Dinosaurs vs. River Boat Gamblers! Count me in!"


[[ my roommate and I watch too much Community. Open common room is open! ]]

So. Wesley had graduated.

It hadn't gone at all the way he would've predicted two years ago, that was for certain -- if anything, he would have expected his father, not Cordelia, to be the guest watching him from the audience, and for himself to be Oxford-bound immediately afterwards. Instead, he was off to work in Los Angeles, killing demons for minimal pay alongside a former street thug and a young woman from the Hellmouth.

Putting it into those terms, he had to wonder if Fandom hadn't driven him slightly mad.

At any rate. His things were packed up, for the most part, and Cordelia was waiting on him to leave with her sometime in the next few days. For right now, though, he wasn't sure he was exactly ready to part with the dorms so soon after supposedly outgrowing them. So he made some breakfast in the common room, enough to share, and then sat at the table with a plage of eggs and some tea, musing over how strange it would be to finally leave.

[[open common room, natch]]

The ceremony was over. Nothing had eaten his diploma. He got to test out the taser function of his grapple. He punched a bear until it cried (basically).

Bruce was having a pretty great day.

Of course, the day was ending soon, and it was almost time to start focusing on leaving in a few days. Almost time. For tonight, he could give a small token of thanks to the students of Fandom for the past three years by paying for pizza, cake, and refreshments and getting it set up in the common room.

Yes, it was completely impromptu. But if people remembered him putting together a quick celebration, maybe they would focus less on him tasering a bear. Probably not. Oh well, he could deal with being known for that here.

[OOC: Open for an impromptu celebration!]

Today was April the twenty-sixth.

It didn't mean anything to most people. It was a Thursday, a few days before graduation. A day for packing, maybe, or catching up with people you wouldn't see again for at least the summer. Anna didn't know exactly what everyone else was doing. She hadn't really noticed.

Because for Anna, April the twenty-sixth was the day she had died.

She sat on the roof, on the ledge, her feet dangling over six stories of nothing, as she had all day, and she remembered the things she hadn't been able to remember for so many years, things she almost wished she didn't remember now.

( Cut for length and remembered violence )

And she hadn't. Not until Cas came. And now she was pretty sure the house was gone, and she was here, but she was still trapped and she was still dead, and today she just had to wonder how much it mattered.

(Open emo roof is open! And emo! Events under the cut taken and paraphrased from Anna Dressed in Blood. If you are remembering my original infopost for Anna and thinking this isn't right, you are correct! I had originally given her a deathday in February, but I moved it because I came to my senses and realized she wouldn't have been walking to a school dance in a thin cotton dress in Toronto in February.))

That morning Ender had received four phone calls from Peter.

Three had come from Fandom's Peter, and in all cases Peter had hung up before Ender managed to even answer the call. The third was from his own Peter, calling in to confirm he'd be showing up and he'd be taking Petra and Suriyawong with him.

Ender's opinion of these events was mixed - though he would hardly say no to a chance to see Petra and Surrey again, the rest was a little more complicated.

Luckily, his regular morning swim always allowed for a good opportunity to clear his head. He made it there early so that he'd have some more time today, quickly stripping down to his swim trunks and diving in.

If there was one thing he'd miss about Fandom in the near future, it would be the easy pool access.

[[ open! ]]

Bruce's preparations for leaving two weeks out were continuing. Today's task was to whittle down the eclectic collection of books he had in his room. He had plenty that he would be keeping, of course. But with the amount of things he'd be bringing back to Gotham from the cave, he needed to consider if he really needed to keep Trees of North America or Entering Space or even Racing Car Design and Development.

Seriously. Eclectic.

And so he hauled many of the less potentially useful books in his collection out to the common room and put up a sign saying "Free Books." While he waited for them to disappear, he was going to say goodbye to Code Administratif Des Etablissemens Dangereux, Insalubres Ou Incommodes (1832) by Trebuchet Adolphe, a French report he originally picked up because of the author's first name. Bruce wasn't made of stone. You see the name "Trebuchet" and you buy the damn book regardless of how esoteric the subject is.

[OOC: My Amazon recommendations may be weird after doing some of those searches. Open CR since I'm home from wooooooork! Feel free to mod books on a variety of bizarrely specific subjects.]

After taking out more than a few NPC's in town (sorry about the outside of Cafe Luke's!), Annie decided that maybe it would be safer for her to take to the grounds with some restocked supplies, recharge a bit, and make sure she was good to go on for a while longer.

So anyone around the dorms might notice Annie sprinting across the lawn to take refuge under a tree and check her equipment.

Not dirty.


[You know you want to ping in and get paintballed/pulled into the game/yell out the window at her and blow her cover.]

Finally, that whole mess with the school board had been sorted out, and Warren was free to wander around wherever he wanted without worrying about who was getting an eyeful of wing. Okay, sure, so it meant that the last week of his high school career had been a bit of a wash, since having to run around with an image inducer turned on all the time had been something of a mood killer, but now he had a little bit of time before grad in order to just appreciate his last little bit of time here on the island.

Naturally, this was the week that spring caught up with him and he started molting.

This afternoon, Warren could be found sitting shirtless on the roof and fidgeting, the occasional feather drifting down to settle beside him.

"I hate everything."

No, he didn't really. But regrowing feathers was agonizingly itchy business.

[Open roof is open!]

Lucrezia wasn't certain how time passing here affected time's passage back home. If the ratio were a simple one-to-one, then today would be her sixteenth birthday. But she had not been gone nearly so long in reality, which meant it seemed false to claim it as such, even if she had perhaps lived the days necessary.

What was required for today was an alternative to the increasingly aggravating costumes the guests had insisted upon. Lucrezia had many old dresses that she did not mind sacrificing to this cause; there simply had to be a way to extend her dress such that it fell to the floor as dresses ought to do. And perhaps some petticoats underneath?

She had enlisted Petra's assistance, and the two had decided that this should be open to any who wished to change their garb -- or, even more simply, to come and spend time and gossip about their odious benefactors.

The sign outside the common room simply read, SEWING PARTY. Snacks and drinks provided, as well as copious amounts of needles and thread -- bring only yourself and, should you like, the atrocity known as your school uniform.

(wasthecuteone modded with permission. Sewing party! All are welcome! Come if you want tweaks to your outfit, or if you just want to hang out.)

You know what was a really exciting way to spend a Wednesday night?

Sitting in the common room with a fantastically boring Lifetime movie on, playing chess against yourself.

Also, there were evil bunnies. Wesley was doing his best to ignore them.

[[open like a common room!]]

There were things Petra was willing to do in the name of appeasing the school board and not getting the school shut down. She'd wear the stupid uniform, albeit not without some serious modifications. She'd smile and act nice and yell at Britta not to melt polyester all over the lawn.

Canceling the Pride meeting, however, fell under the heading of 'Oh Hell No.'

So Petra had a determined and slightly too bright smile pasted on her face today, and, newly flush with cash from selling Loki's coin and negotiating an even better rate than his estimate for it, she'd sprung for a variety of handwavey treats from J,GoB--and told them to go heavy on the rainbows in decorating the cookies and cupcakes. She'd also gotten various sodas and other drinks to go with it, along with rainbow paper plates and napkins. Her iPod was in its speaker dock next to the refreshments, piping a playlist that ran from "Born this Way" to "I Will Survive," currently at a pretty moderate volume, but she could crank it up later if so desired.

"So obviously this situation sucks," Petra said for an opener, mostly just hoping no one was overhearing it who shouldn't. "And that's without even talking about the rabbits that tried to attack me like four times on my way back from town. I think they might really like cupcakes. But I say we just forget about it for an hour or two and enjoy ourselves. Or we can bitch about it and eat cake. I'm open to either.

"Point of club business, I don't know if clubs usually keep meeting over the summer, but do we want to do that even if it's unofficially? Or we could just suspend it until fall. Let me know if you have thoughts. Oh, and if anyone wants their uniform to look less hideous," as evidenced by the fact that Petra's actually fit and all, "I can do that, just talk to me after the meeting or drop by 511 or whatever. For now just enjoy the cake and let's try to make lemonade out of these giant lemons."

Butters Stotch was dealing with some very sad news.

No, it had nothing to do with the guests and benefactors. It didn't even have anything to do with Britta Perry still screaming outside in the lawn, nor what she had handwavily and horribly done in response to him telling her she should stop. No, it had nothing to do with anything on Fandom Island today, but rather what was going on in other places.

Butters had the remote poised in his hand, frowning at the report on one of those celebrity news shows. He supposed it made sense that, if she was alive in this world, then he was probably still alive, too, but that didn't negate the fact that it was still upsetting, bizarre, and hard to believe. "Now, how can Kanye West be dating Kim Kardashian?" he murmured with consternation to himself. "I thought he was a gay fish..."

Very disturbing news, indeed.

[[ open common room is open. OH this canon. Link is canon, and therefor you should assume it's NSFW and special ]]

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. ]]

They were everywhere.

When Ender had saved the first green... thing from falling out of the window that morning, it hadn't seemed like much of a problem. The second one... well, that got him thinking.

By the third he just wished they'd stop following him.

By the fifth... he was sitting down in the common room, a book of common fairy tales in hand. Reading aloud, as a matter of fact, because so far that seemed like the only strategy that actually got them to shut up. He wasn't sure if they were even actually listening, but at least they weren't talking to him.

Some days, Fandom made him very, very tired.

[[ open! ]]

The Freedom Costumes uniforms had been given out, the teachers had been prepped, and everything was as set as could be for the school board's special guests to arrive and start their tour. Zoe wasn't one for prayer, but it seemed like that was all she could do at this point. And hope that Annie wasn't the kind of person who needed caffeine to function.

[This post is for the tour of the dorms/school, for Annie, the Howells, any school board members who want to supervise come along, and any students who want to be in the dorms during the tour. There will be a tour of the town posted this afternoon!]

Petra had fully intended to go along with this whole song and dance for a day or whatever, buck up, wear the uniform, in the name of just getting it over with.

That was, until she saw the uniform in question. Some things were not meant to be borne. More plaid than a lumberjack convention, ugly boxy cuts, and none of it in breathable fabrics¹? Oh hell no.

Upon returning to the dorms, Petra had dug through her sewing supplies, collected everything she thought she'd need, and relocated it all, including her sewing machine (which was set up on the coffee table), to the common room. She figured this was going to be an all-nighter, especially if she was going to restructure a blazer² into something figure-flattering, and she didn't want to test Dany's patience.

And now? She was sitting on the floor in front of the couch, surrounded by...well, mostly, at this point, pieces of cloth. Plaid polyester cloth. It might look familiar. And if the penny didn't drop then, the fact that Petra was currently taking a seam ripper to those pants might trigger a clue.

She couldn't fix this sartorial disaster completely, but she could remake it. She could make it better.

¹Not to mention the disastrous rise on the pants she'd been given, which were also about three inches too short--kind of astonishing when you considered practically everything else she'd been given was at least two sizes too big.
²Something she was actually kind of excited about attempting. Petra was kind of a dork about sewing sometimes.

((Open common room, y'all know the drill.))

It came to Jace's attention that one couldn't spend all their time watching Real Housewives shows. Before he had came here he had no interest in television at all but now he had a borderline addiction to those plastic looking hussies. And now they had them in Vancouver!

The mere fact that he got excited over Canadian Real Housewives was a sign he needed to get out a bit. The roof seemed like a logical place to go since he had always liked heights and it was a place he wasn't likely to run into anyone he found too annoying. He figured annoying people hung out at coffee shops and bookstores, places like that.

He picked a spot near the edge of the roof to sit down at and looked over towards the ground, wondering what kind of rune would be required to survive a jump from here. Not that he was stupid enough to try it. He was just stupid enough to ponder it.

[The roof, of course, is open]

There wasn't much time left before graduation, but Gabrielle felt a particular pull to visit home over the weekend anyway. Given how her trips home almost inevitably went?

Yes, that would be why she was in the salle this morning, whaling away on a few practice dummies with her sai. She was getting pretty good with those things, if she did say so herself.

[OOC: Post is kind of blah, but salle is open, subject to patches of SP as usual.]

You know what was sort of a lame thing to do on a Friday? Mope on the couch with (approximately) a dozen pillows and a mug of lukewarm hot chocolate while watching Uber-Man.

Yeah, it wouldn't have been Miley's first choice, but in this case it was pretty fitting. Because, you know, he too was struggling with secret identity issues, and... look, it made sense to Miley, okay?

"How does he do it?" she grumbled, glaring at the screen. Which caused her to not immediately notice when she accidentally tipped her mug forward and spilled some hot chocolate in her lap.

"Dangflabbit."

Today when the girls got there, they'd find today set up like an afternoon tea. Because it was afternoon and there was tea and biscuits. Pretty self-explanatory there.

"Hi, everyone," Annie said. "First off, I wanted to tell everyone great job at the fashion show last week. You could work the catwalk like real models!" Even if they decided against pants.

And mostly seemed to hate colour. “We raised a lot of money,” Rilla said, smiling broadly. “More than the Junior Red Crosses of Glen St. Mary Lowbridge! And not just because of the time difference and subsequent inflation!”

This had not made Rilla a lot of friends at home. Raising money for charity was cutthroat. She waved her hand at the tables. “Next week is final exams, which hardly seems possible, so today I thought we could spend time to say goodbye to our senior sisters and wish them all the best in their futures.”

Annie maybe pouted a little. Look, she was off to the exciting land of community college, she was sort of sorry to be leaving here so fast now. "I know I can at least say that it's been an honor to know all you guys and help lead you in a sisterly way over the last semester, and I'm going to miss you all." And that was not at all a pause to totally not cry, nope!

Except for how she gestured for Rilla to go next because she was still pausing to totally not cry.

“Awwwww,” Rilla said, flinging her arms around Annie. “We’ll miss you too!”

That did not help with the not crying, no. So when Annie hugged her back while continuing with, "We have teeeeeea," it was really, really whiny. Sorry, girls.

Watching television was always an interesting experience if you asked Loki. Tonight was no different as America's Next Top Model was on.

"I was far more attractive than any of these girls," Loki decided, settling in to watch them bad-mouth each other during the confessionals.

And he could walk better as either gender, thank you.

[Open!]

Dany had spent entirely too much time on her own, recently. She'd taken to riding and exploring the island, or hiding away in her room with her dragons. She made polite conversation where applicable, and had even managed to start a letter to Jorah, but a week and a half of mourning children who were never to be was quite enough, and frankly, bordering on pathetic.

This was what she told herself when she rose Wednesday morning. Today, she actually brushed and braided her hair to make it shine, and dressed in soft, clean silks. And after attending class, she didn't immediately head back to the stables to take her silver out. Nor did she stay in her room, once she arrived to retrieve the dragons. No, today, she padded out into the common room and turned on the television.

It wasn't a particularly large step. But she hadn't had a particularly massive backslide, either. She found some cookies in the cupboard -- the chocolate ones, with the white cream in the center -- and took to the couch, concentrating intensely on the television.

The program she'd selected was one she'd seen in passing -- people appeared to guess the price of wares, and the closer they were without going over, the better. Of course, she'd never watched long enough to see some of the other games they played, once this stage was passed.

"What in the name of the Seven is Plinko?" she wondered aloud, watching the television closely for any clues as to this bizarre turn of events.

[omg open CR is open, I am bored and Dany is finally out of her mopey place, omg, and mild SP after about 4:00 EDT!]

The weekend with the children (or more precisely, the lack thereof) had not been great for Simon. Couple that with some of his classes leaning heavily on death and the future last week, and he'd been training pretty hard for the last few days. This would explain the fresh bandages on his knuckles, and the equally fresh (although light) scrape on one of his pale cheeks. Sometimes you really botched a jump.

And he was getting breakfast now. Milk, a bowlful of cereal, and he was frying two eggs for himself. Of course, his mind was still on a whole variety of other things (what he should have done better with that jump, whether he should go home to England for a visit, whether he should just go home in general) that his concentration on the task at hand was a little wobbly. And so he managed to burn his finger on the edge of the frying pan.

A moment later, holding his poor hand under cold water from the faucet and trying not to get the bandage wet, Simon thought he had seen better days.

[ooc: Open!]

Anna wasn't really very good at the whole 'sense of time' thing, the product of not sleeping or eating and having been stuck in a house alone for so very long. She was getting better about it as she went along, but she was sure she'd missed some of her classes and work shifts along the way, and while she knew today was a Sunday, she hadn't realized it was Easter just yet.

She had, however, realized that it was the end of hockey season, and felt bad about forgetting she could keep up with it now. So she was flipping through the sports and news channels, trying to find something that could bring her up to date and thinking that she really had to learn to use a computer one of these days. She bet there was more information there.

Competitive cheerleading (That was a thing? The twenty-first century was so weird)...golf...English soccer...aha! Hockey news!...wait. "That can't be right," she informed the TV. "How can the Maple Leafs not have made the playoffs? They're from Toronto! They're supposed to be good at this!"

Oh, Anna, sweetie. You have so much to learn.

((Open like a common room with a slightly crestfallen ghost in it on Easter morning! This video is always relevant.))

Just a few weeks left in Fandom and still so much for Bruce to do. He'd spent many sleepless nights over the course of the semester mapping out sketchy places on the mainland where he could pick fights for some group fight practice - warehouses that served as bases for gangs, unruly bars, a couple dark alleys... - where he wouldn't be causing any issues that didn't already exist. Well, aside from broken furniture, perhaps, some broken faces, and maybe broken crime rings. He'd have to play it smart, but maybe with a little help he could get some good training in.

Of course, plotting this out only worked while there were no distractions. And there on the TV was a terribly compelling movie called, simply, All Animals vs. All Humans. Normally Bruce could have ignored this kind of science fiction animal attack movie, but the concept seemed compelling. All animals versus all humans? The stakes were high. And he happened to look up during a scene in which a duckbilled platypus venomous-foot-spurred a man to death. And how could anyone look away while that was happening?

Planning be damned, there was a giraffe on the screen now, and she looked angry. Bruce was hooked.

[OOC: What has two thumbs and got out of work early so he decided to post a CR like three hours earlier than he would usually be able to and based it around a Hodgman reference? THIS GUY.]