Two Eggs, Fold in Gently {Freddie/RJ}

[PICKLE ABREY]

Everything had been...a whirlwind, to say the least. She had spent the better part of a school year, just admiring RJ from afar. It was hard to make friends, it was even more difficult to talk to someone who made you blush straight down to your toes every time he so much as glanced your way. Of course, he was probably checking out the girls just behind her. For a long time, Pickle had been invisible. It took a few dedicated friends and a couple doses of courage to take the leap and actually talk to him. She had been surprised honestly, RJ wasn't like the other guys. He didn't call her names, or make fun of her. He was nice to her, and he smiled at her. He was her friend. She had good friends, actually. Kenny, and Willow, and Addison, and RJ, and Freddie, and even that quiet girl, Nina. She had been lucky to have one friend, but be part of a crowd? Be part of a group that people looked at, that people wanted to be in? The cool kids? Never in her life.

It was those actual friends who were motivating her to ask RJ to the upcoming Masquerade. She had intended not to go, but Freddie said it was a shame that she didn't even give RJ a choice in the matter. The idea made her heart race, and almost dizzy. Being friends with RJ was hard enough to do without tripping all over herself, but asking him out? To a dance? Didn't people do fancy things to do that? Roses, and banners, and boquets? All of that seemed too much for Pickle, so she decided a more subtle kind of way. She'd bake things. Of course, there was the nagging suspicion that no one actually ate anything she made. She hadn't seen them take a bite--they'd always save it for later. Addison was the only one that had ever taken some of her breads, or cookies. And the girl seemed to always come back for more.

Maybe this would change things. Pickle put her careful dedication into rolling out pieces of bread, and twirling pieces just so. Making carfeul little loops that went just right on the pieces spiraling out, and two little raisins for eyes. The result was a cute little bread in the shape of an octopus. But that wasn't all. There would be cookies accompanying it. Cookies shaped and decorated like starfish, fish, and little boats. Baking was an art for Pickle, something she took her time and dedication on. She had finished the bread, and was letting it cool when she noticed something was terribly wrong.

The whisk was gone, and she had used up all but one of her eggs. The bread she had mixed by hand, but cookies required a special delicacy. She couldn't just present the octopus bread! It wouldn't make sense, it would be weird. It was supposed to be a cute little scene on the little tray she would give to RJ the next day at school. "No...nooo." She whined to herself, pulling open all the drawers and cabinets. No, no, no. She snapped up over the counter, and narrowed her insanely large blue eyes, glancing over the counter suspiciously. Someone must have known she was planning on baking cookies to ask RJ to the masquerade. Christ Almighty, they were on to her! But she would not be defeated quite so easily. Pickle yanked off her apron and tossed it onto the counter while she strode from the dorm room yanking her ponytail out.

Her messy hair tumbled down to her shoulders, and she paused at the front door, touching it idly. She almost missed her brown hair. It had been dull, sort of lifeless. The color wasn't anything particularly special. But Kenny had insisted blonde would look magnificent with her complexion and her big blue eyes. So, with much itching sensation later, Pickle had been turned blonde. She didn't feel like a Pickle anymore, and that worried her. She pulled a tuft of hair across her nose while she thought, then balanced it on her upper lip, temporarily giving herself a mustache.

Where could she go to get eggs? Addison was studying, wasn't she? And Kenny hadn't picked up her cell earlier. Willow was probably out somewhere, maybe with Freddie? And Nina? Well...Nina was a sweetheart, but Pickle was afraid if she asked Nina for anything, the poor girl would blow a gasket if she didn't have it. So, RJ it was. That was weird. She wiggled her nose, and let her hair drop from her face. Well. It was worth a try. If she didn't have eggs...she could...maybe find another way? Pulling her thigh-high tube-socks up into place, and smoothing out her sweater, she tromped right down the steps and crossed the small division that seperated the boys from the girls. Her polka-dotted converse tapped against the ground while she made her way to the door, and she stood infront of it for a good, long moment.

This was weird. Hopefully he wouldn't catch on. Pickle pushed her sleeves up to her elbow, and hitched up her sweater a bit, so it didn't cover her shorts completely. It'd be ten different sorts of weird it it looked like she was in nothing but a sweater. With her fist positioned over the door, the thought made her face turn red, and she sucked in a deep breath, dipped her head down a bit, and knocked loudly.

[/color]

Tags: Scout / Freddie / Becket / RJ / Olley / Pickle
Notes: Pickle is a nervous Pickle.
Outfit: Tah-Dah!

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[RJ TEACH]

RJ furiously mashed the buttons on the controller, tyring to get his goddamn pixelated car to go just a BIT faster. What the hell was wrong with it! It just wasn't going as fast as Freddy's, which was positively WHIPPING around the track! Rj grimaced and grunted in annoyance every once in a while as his tires spun and swerved and the car shot across the track like it was being driven by a drunk, alzheimatic senior citizen. Every time he swerved off the track and lost precious seconds in the race warranted yet another slurred string of muttered swears as he egged the car back onto the track.

Jesus Christ, he HAD to stop getting so into these games.

All at once, Freddie's car on the opposite side of the screen drastically missed a jump, setting him back a few seconds. Here was RJ's chance! He was behind, but he could easily make up the distance in the time it would take Freddy to get back up to speed. He could still win this damn game!

"Hey, you'd better hurry up or else I'm totally gonna pass you. Holy shit, I'm totally gonna pass you! Oh my fucking god, what's wrong with you! AW FUCK YEAH! SUCK IT! YES. FUCK YEAH, I TOTALLY JUST PASSED YOU! JESUS, HAVE YOU EVER PLAYED BEFORE OR WHAT?!" RJ's voice got steadily louder as the game progressed, til' he was nearly shouting with glee at the fact that his sleek red car had TOTALLY just passed up Freddie's pathetic little green piece of shit. RJ felt a surge of adrenaline. It was like he was a natural, like he was an old pro at using the controller. They had become one. Everything RJ thought just happened on the screen while Freddie just struggled to keep up.

This must be what it was like to win all the time. It felt pretty damn good.

A sharp, sudden knock at the door ruined everything. RJ's perfect bubble of winning luck burst, and RJ immediately swerved off the track and off a nearby canyon.

"GODDAMNIT, ARE YOU KIDDING ME? WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME? NO, WHAT THE FCK IS WRONG WITH THEM? WHO THE FUCK DRIVES THAT CLOSE TO A FUCKING CLIFF? SHIT! GODDAMNIT!" Angrily throwing down the controller, RJ got up in a huff to get the door, followed by an obnoxious peal of laughter from the returning champion. Fuck.

RJ honestly had no clue who would be at the door. Honestly, at the rate the evening was quickly deteriorating it was probably the teacher who was on duty that night, telling them to shut the fuck up or else risk detention. If they were punished in such a way, RJ would undoubtedly be the one with the detention, while Freddie was overlooked and let go. Such was the way the universe worked. Either way, RJ was less than pleased as he opened the door, wearing only a wife beater and a pair of particularly comfy if not particularly flattering felt soccer ball pattern pajama bottoms.

The pair of bulging eyes that stared back at him nearly made him jump out of his skin. Somehow, though, he managed to retain his composure.

"Oh... uh.... hi there, Pickle!" RJ said hesitantly, not sure how to continue, really. He was nice to her at lunch when she sat with them and always smiled at her in the hall because that's what was expected of him, but he hadn't expected her to come barging down his doorstep any time soon. "Uh, hey Freddie! We've got ourselves a visitor. It's Pickle. Make yourself presentable."

RJ stood there in the doorway, the door rather firmly shut lest the poor girl get a glimpse of an indecent teenage boy, smiling and nodding slightly, not sure really where to go with the conversation. "So, Pickle, what brings you to the neighborhood this evening?"

[FREDDIE FOSTER]

Fucking shit, if he didn’t come out winning this game, heads would roll. Or, more specifically, RJ’s would. He’d lob it clean off his head and then he’d…well, hopefully it didn’t really matter, because there was no way in hell or out he was coming out of this as anything but a winner. And not a neck-and-neck winner, either. A full blown, shot-halfway-into-the-next-competition kind of winner. RJ might never challenge him again, he’d win so goddamn bad. Good. Whatever. Victory was victory, and he knew it tasted sweeter than anything Wonka’d ever come up with.

Freddie loved competition. Breathed it.

Hunched over the controller as though to curb away virtual air resistance, Freddie narrowed his eyes at the screen, pressing buttons with a maddened sense of concentration. “Comeoncomeoncomeon,” he muttered at the green, pixilated car on screen, determined to will its speedometer forward with only his mind. It’d worked before, he swore it. This time, however, it seemed his telepathic link was defective, as his car inexplicably missed the jump that, if cleared properly, would have won him the game.

“DAMMIT!” instantly, he sank back into the couch, head smacking against its cushioned back. Slouching quite remarkably, Freddie whipped the towel which had been draped over his shoulders (RJ had suggested they race literally minutes after he’d emerged from the shower, thus leaving a competition-craving Freddie clad in nothing more than a pair of striped boxers and his still damp, shower-ruffled hair) down to the ground, cursing loudly once more. As instantly as the childish pity party had started, however, it was over. He was back—although still slouching—to mashing the controller’s buttons as hard as he could, muttering incoherently as he narrowed his eyes at the screen and found that, miraculously, his supernatural power seemed to have returned. He was gaining. And fast, too. Why, if he kept this up, he just might—

“YES! YES! HA! SUCK ON THAT, YOU LITTLE FUCKER!” Freddie leapt to his feet, victorious cheering mingling with RJ’s temper tantrum. Hardly noticing when his roommate got up to answer the door, Freddie began an impromptu victory dance in which he raised the controller high over his head and lifted his feet in a sort of mix between a touchdown dance and voodoo ritual. Oddly enough, when paired with the mirthful glee on his face, it worked.

Freddie was still dancing when RJ opened the door. Facing the TV with his back to the conversation, he lifted both arms high on either side of his head, mimicking the little dance his victorious animated doppelganger was doing onscreen. “Hey RJ, check this out, man! Look, he’s even got your losing face down!” Freddie laughed wildly the red, moping icon as he turned to look over his shoulder at his friend.

“A visitor?” instantly, Fred’s arms fell to his side. Shit. A teacher, probably. He hated teachers.

When the identity of their unexpected visitor was revealed, however, he couldn’t contain the smile on his face. It was a wicked grin, filled with anticipation. Oh, how he loved Pickle. Or, more accurately, how he loved tormenting her. It came so easy. She was obviously obsessed with RJ, not to mention cursed—or blessed, as Freddie preferred to think of it and the jokes they warranted—with those horribly huge eyes. Presentable? Ha. He was just fine how he was, he thought. Like RJ had any right to tell him to change. Still…maybe a bit more clothing was necessary. Smirking to himself, Freddie picked the towel up from where he’d tossed it previously, wrapping it loosely around his waist just enough so that the boxers weren’t visible. It’d be priceless. He could see it already.

Mussing his hair further, and grateful for the dampness that still resided in it, Freddie made his way to the door just in time to hear RJ ask Pickle what she wanted. Wrenching the handle back forcefully, Freddie took a step to the side once it had been swung all the way open so as not to allow RJ to block any more of him from view. Casually, he leaned against the doorframe, carrying himself as though fully dressed save for the one hand holding the towel upright.

“Yeah, Pickle,” he nodded at her almost accusingly, never bothering with a greeting in her case. “What the hell do you want?”

[PICKLE ABREY]

Pickle wrinkled her nose, her brows furrowing as she listened to the voices on the other side of the door. She couldn't exactly make out what they were saying, but there were two voices. Then they stoppd--but she had distinctly heard two. She started to walk backwards, about to just leave it. Maybe RJ had company--maybe it was Freddie and some company. God, she hoped it was the other one. She didn't want to deal with Freddie, no way. But after that little...revenge act with Addison earlier on in the week, it was slightly easier to deal with Freddie.

Either way, when the door swung open, Pickle looked started and her eyes widened up at RJ. She blinked those blue eyes, and those long eyelashes at him a few times. Why was he so wonderful? Sometimes she wondered how a guy like him could even be friends with a girl like her. Smart, handsome, popular. Pickle had the smart part, but the beautiful part and the popular part seemed to be a concept her brain couldn't yet grasp. She straightened up a little bit, and smiled back, her eyes relaxing and not looking so terribly surprised. She opened her mouth to answer, before she was left gaping there like a fish.

Her mouth opened and closed while she stared at Freddie, and her eyes slid from RJ to Freddie, to RJ, then back to Freddie. Her pale face flared to life, turning red all the way up to her scalp. She clamped her mouth shut, and looked back up at RJ, one hand going to the side of her face, flat and stiff to block out Freddie's form. Was there no decency? None at all? "I-i...I'm just...I'm..."

[/b] Speak. Speak, Pickle. She sighed, and didn't look at Freddie, but her voice was small and quiet. "Could you just go and put some clothes, Freddie? That's...it's...well, it's terribly indecent." She mumbled, looking back up at RJ almost pleadingly.

"I was just...looking to see if you had a whisk I could borrow?" She asked, gesturing as though she had a whisk in her hand, before she wrapped it back around her middle uncomfortably, her hand still on the side of her face like a blinder. "Or maybe some eggs? I need like three. I'll...I'll replace them, but I can't...go to the store this late, and I kinda...need it tonight." She murmured, looking down at RJ's feet. She could talk to RJ now without stuttering too badly, but she was still trying to come to terms with being able to speak to him while looking him in the face. Her toes touched each other, and she shifted the tips of her converse so they rubbed nervously against each other.

Pickle was a nervous pickle.[/blockquote][/color]

Tags: Scout / Freddie / Becket / RJ / Olley / Pickle
Notes: Pickle is a nervous Pickle.
Outfit: Tah-Dah!

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[RJ TEACH]

RJ was less than pleased that Freddie had chosen to take no heed of his order to become a bit more clothed and decent. Sure, RJ didn't have any problem with it, but there were certain times when a bit more clothing than a towel and some underwear was warranted. When in the presence of a girl, a very fragile, gentle girl at that, was just one such time. Freddie needed to know better, because RJ was NOT going to deal with a teary eyed, mentally scarred teenage girl this late at night. Something about that image just didn't seem to go over well in terms of preserving RJ's reputation. He shuddered at the thought of what people would say after seeing a nearly naked boy in the room and a broken, crying Pickle weeping mournfully in the hall.

Freddie had to be stopped. Now.

Shoving his practically nude friend out of the doorway, RJ shot Pickle an apologetic grin as he dealt with Freddie. Aiming a swift punch to Freddie's arm, RJ pointed sternly to his room. "For the love of God, get a fucking shirt on. Now." RJ hissed at his friend, trying to keep quiet so that Pickle didn't get alarmed. She was always so sensitive. RJ didn't want her worried that they were ignoring her or anything.

Returning to the door, RJ put a perfectly pleased expression on, waiting for her to explain her reasons for joining them that evening. As her baking related needs we conveyed, however, even RJ, master of putting on a happy face and gritting his teeth to make it through a conversation without being rude, had trouble keeping up pretenses. His mask of kind helpful interest slowly contorted into an expression of confusion and perplexed surprise.

A whisk and some eggs? Seriously? Who NEEDED that in the middle of the night?

"Uhh...." RJ was at a loss for words. He honestly didn't know how to reply to such a request. "I-I'm pretty sure that we don't have any of those things. I don't think we've EVER had 'em, to be perfectly honest." RJ shot a glance at the mini fridge that they kept in the dorm, trying desperately to remember what they had the last time he'd checked. The only thing that jumped out at him was a six pack of red bull that was probably now down to three or four cans, a sandwhich that RJ had bought that was also most likely devoured by Freddie and maybe a thing of Dr. Pepper. RJ had NEVER witnessed a container of eggs cross the dorm threshold.

"I... I dunno what to tell you, really. Maybe the school kitchen would have some of that stuff? You know where that is, right? I'd say you ought to sneak down there and try and find some eggs or whatever." RJ shrugged, honestly at a loss.

Edit:

[FREDDIE FOSTER]

Oh, sweet victory. It tasted brilliant. Better than revenge or charity or whatever the hell other actions were supposed to have tastes like that. Victory was…decadent. That was a good word, decadent. Maybe he’d use it more often.

Freddie laughed loudly at Pickle’s discomfort, not bothering to contain his amusement at the fact that he’d obviously tricked and embarrassed her. And RJ’s face was nothing less than priceless, either. “What?” he shrugged, making sure not to take his eyes off Pickle, hand slowly loosening its grip on the towel that was already a bit less than snug in the first place. “It’s perfectly natural. You know, you shouldn’t get so sensitive about stuff, Pickle. It’ll only make people look for reactions,” he pointed his index finger lazily and nodded at her knowingly, lips pursed into a thin smirk that, after a second, became a wide grin.

“Ow!” Freddie cried as RJ shoved him out of the doorway, rubbing his arm with fake, large puppy dog eyes. There was mirth in them still, even as he received the shortest bit of a lecture he’d ever heard RJ give. Oooohh, two reactions. It’d seemed he’d struck gold.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Freddie dropped the towel where he stood and practically bounded off to find something “decent” to wear among the large pile of clothes that had begun to take up his room. After all of two seconds of searching, he grabbed an old practice jersey (clean, judging by a whiff) and pulled it over his head, which only served to muss his hair further. Not that it mattered. It was just Pickle, after all. Thinking for a moment, a diabolical grin spread over Freddie’s face as he poked his head around the corner, voice impishly innocent as he yelled out to RJ. “So was that just a shirt you wanted, or pants too?”

There was a loud THUD of something heavy flying against the wall as Freddie ducked back into the room, laughing wickedly. Another three second search warranted his donning of a pair of green flannel pajama bottoms, which he wore just low enough on his hips so that the waistband of his boxers could poke out, as was customary. Once all that dressing business had been completed, Freddie emerged from the room just in time to hear RJ’s response to Pickle’s question. Now, he may not have had the slightest clue as to what it was she’d asked in the first place, but obviously he knew where it was going. Or, rather, where he wanted it to go.

“Better?” he shoved his way back into the doorframe, offering Pickle an innocent grin that harbored no hint of apology. Curiously, he glanced between the two of them. Jesus, they were awkward. He quirked a brow and cleared his throat, as though waiting for permission to speak. He went on ahead without it. “You’re not seriously gonna make her sneak down there all on her own, right RJ? Not after last time…” he gave his friend a knowing look before glancing to Pickle, to whom he offered a stage whisper, hand cupped over his mouth to supposedly keep RJ from listening. “We almost got caught. Bad.”

He leaned back again in order to give RJ an obvious and well-aimed elbow to the ribs. “Go on, RJ. Be a gentleman. Help the little lady…She looks like she needs it.” When he grinned, it was devilish.

[PICKLE ABREY]

Pickle kept her eyes down, but that didn’t mean she didn’t notice the towel dropped. Actually, she focused even harder on the ground, not even to take the chance to see if there was anything beneath the towel. No need to scar her delicate sensibilities. And from a girl who hadn’t even had her first kiss yet—there was no need to get crazy with it and scar her little mind. Her eyes slid from the floor, and up to RJ expectantly, waiting. Though, the expression that was on his face made her stomach drop for just a moment. Her fingers went up to her perpetually pouting lips while she shifted on her toes uncomfortable.

Sneaking into the kitchen? Breaking and entering. Finding eggs? Theft. It seemed more likely that she could just go ask someone else, but who else would help her, or even have it? Granted most of the people on the floor would slam the door right in her face, at least RJ was talking to her. Oh Jesus, RJ was talking to her. For a split moment, her mouth opened and closed without any sound while her vocal chords seemed to be out on break. She stopped gaping like some confused codfish and turned her faze when Freddie reappeared. Oh thank god, he was dressed. He could do to pull his pants up, but at least he had on pants to pull up.

She shook her head, and looked back at RJ. “Uh…n-no, I don’t want to get caught b-but…” Those fearful blue eyes turned onto Freddie again while he pushed RJ to help, “I…it’s alright. I just…I was going to do some baking for tomorrow but it’s…it’ no big deal. I can always wait.” Yeah, and that’d be one more day that other girls could sink their claws into RJ. She didn’t want to risk RJ getting in trouble—Freddie she’d sacrifice up to the School Board any day, but regardless—she didn’t want RJ to get in trouble. That’s why she was doing this in the first place—for RJ. It would be silly to get him suspend and put on a curfew when she intended to ask him to the Masquerade.

“T-thanks though…” Try as she may, there was a slight air of defeat hanging over her, in the way the corners of her pretty mouth turned down, or the way that her eyes didn’t seem quite as buggish, and even down to the way her shoulder seemed to just hang, rather than hold. Strangely enough—defeat was a good look on Pickle. But it didn’t mean it was any less pathetic to watch. She took a couple steps back, and forced her lips to upturn, “It’s really no problem, I’m sorry for disturbing…whatever it was that I was disturbing.” She glanced past them, then looked into RJ’s face apologetically. Her apologies for RJ, and RJ only.

Pickle was a distressed pickle.

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Tags: Scout / Freddie / Becket / RJ / Olley / Pickle
Notes: Pickle is a nervous Pickle.
Outfit: Tah-Dah!

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[RJ TEACH]

While his half-roommate, half-rambunctious pet scampered off to find the rest of the outfit that he'd lost, RJ was caught in the door, grinning like an idiot to Pickle. He was at a loss as to what to say, and as such stood there with nothing better to do than stand there trying to kill time and come up with other small talk. "So yeah, like, it shouldn't be TOO hard to sneak into the kitchen, I mean, I've done it with Freddie before and we're still here, aren't we?"

RJ was distracted from his awkward ramble about sneaking into the kitchen by some inane comment called out by Freddie. RJ didn't even bother giving a response this time. Picking up the nearest thing that came within reach, in this case one of Freddie's sneakers that happened to be great for throwing, Rj chucked the thing into his idiot friend's dorm, not bothering to see whether it hit the target or not.

"Sorry about him. Honestly, I try to just keep my head down and ignore most of what he says. It's the only real way to deal with him," was the only explanation RJ could offer for Pickle, rolling his eyes and sighing loudly.

Freddie's reappearance in the doorway was neither desired nor pleasant. RJ was ready to jump on him should he start to say anything overly rude again, protecting Pickle's innocence at the cost of all else. RJ would NOT be caught as the cause for a distraught, crying, socially awkward girl. He would rather be found with a dead, bloody roommate than a bawling outcast any day.

Still though... Freddie DID make sense. RJ had forgotten how they'd nearly been caught and expelled or whatever. All their little nighttime escapades started to melt together after a while. It was hard to keep track of whether they'd been chased by some authority figure while breaking into the kitchen or while sneaking a few half-empty cans of beer from one of the outdoor restaurants downtown. Shit. RJ almost sent Pickle into a guaranteed trap! For RJ and Freddie it had been no problem to run off and evade the old security guard, but Pickle? She would stop like a deer in the headlights the minute anyone called her out!

"Oh, geeze, Pickle. I totally forgot! No, I mean, we'd better go with you! You need these eggs, right? It's not like you're going to get them from anywhere else before morning? It'll be a quick trip, I swear." RJ stepped outside the door, not even caring that he only had some flannel pajama bottoms on and was totally barefoot. He put his arm around Pickle a bit awkwardly, not really knowing whether that would comfort her or make her clam up even more.

"We'll go, so you have someone to run diversionary tactics if anyone tries to catch us," RJ said, shooting a meaningful glare at Freddie. "Two soccer captains helping you out? You'll bee fine! You'll be back, safe and sound, doing your... egg related things before you know it!" RJ grinned at her, happy to do whatever it took to placate her. He started to lead her off down the hall, shooting one more glare off over his shoulder to make sure that Freddie was following.

"Have you ever been to the kitchen at night before? It's crazy spooky. It's great," RJ said conversationally, trying to get Pickle a bit more on board with the whole thing. This would hopefully go quickly.

[FREDDIE FOSTER]

Freddie blinked at Pickle, expression one of pitying disdain. Oh, naïve little freak. He elbowed RJ again, hard, obvious enough that Pickle couldn’t possibly miss it. “She’s trying to be polite,” he hissed loudly out the side of his mouth, eyes mirthful as they stayed locked on Pickle’s, though the words were clearly meant for RJ. “You’re scaring her, RJ. Man up and grow a pair, will you?”

We. Never before did Freddie think he’d hated a word so much. We. Oh, sure Pickle, We’ll help you sneak down to the kitchens! We’ll get caught for you when you hold us all up looking for the right kind of sprinkles or free-range eggs. We’ll bash RJ’s head in when we get back to the dorm later tonight after you’re finished putting us through hours of torture.

Sure, he’d help. Help make one-hundred percent sure this was the most horribly awkward night of RJ’s life, and help get Pickle caught, if the opportunity arose.

Freddie shot RJ a glare to annihilate all death glares as his friend stepped out of the door. Sure to make a very elaborate slicing motion and mouth with immense clarity the words You’re dead, fucktard. Which, he was. So very dead. Deader than a doorknob’s doornail. Deader than…well, most anything Freddie could think of as being worth killing. He could have just closed the door, of course. In fact, it would have been easiest to just step back inside the dorm, shut the door, and latched it shut. But then, that would also have been too simple, and really boring, to be honest. Playing video games wasn’t half as fun when the only person you could brag to was the computer. Besides, he had clothes on now. Not that near-nudity would have stopped him before.

With a scowl so exaggerated it could very well have been painted on his face, Freddie stepped outside the room, slamming the door roughly behind him. As though RJ didn’t already know just how badly he wanted to wring his neck.

Still, there was good to be found here. First off, it gave him the opportunity for easy revenge of the kind he could draw out for as long as possible. Or, as long as this trip took. Hopefully not too long. Freddie had the strangest feeling that the more time one spent around Pickle, the more they started to smell like vinegar and mayonnaise—a combination he was rather sure wouldn’t bode well the next time he decided he wanted to lean a little closer to some girl at the movies. But he could work with what time he had before the stench sank in.

“Not only spooky, but intimate!” Freddie piped up as he caught up with the two of them, wiggling his eyebrows blatantly at Pickle before shooting RJ a pointed look to accentuate his apparently helpful tone. “Almost no lighting makes every girl look good—Right, RJ? You know…” he paused for a moment, walking backwards in front of them as he stared scrutinizingly at Pickle’s face. “Bet you wouldn’t look half bad in the dark, Pickle. What do you think, RJ? Hell, she could be real pretty.”

Freddie looked back up at his friend and smiled, face as innocent as his tone, though on the inside he was positively cackling.

[PICKLE ABREY]

Sometimes, Pickle was extremely sure that Freddie was teasing her, mocking her. RJ, never. RJ was kind, RJ was sweet, RJ wouldn't do that to her. Freddie on the other hand, was unfortunately capable. Just when she had been ready to retreat back to her dorm that smelled permanently of sweets, RJ offered to help her. It stopped her in her tracks, and those large eyes stared up at RJ, before a smile broke out across her small mouth. RJ was so kind; he never would tease her in the way that Freddie was.

"Well, if it's a quick trip, I suppose it'll be alright. Thank you so much RJ," Oh, mustn't forget the little troll. She turned slightly, opening her mouth, ready to thank Freddie also--before the warmth of RJ's arm wrapped around her shoulders. Her voice stopped in her throats, and for just a split second she felt completely and utterly dizzy. Oh yes, Pickle was swooning. She didn't even have much of a chance to enjoy it, because Freddie's mouth started going at her, yet again.

Those big eyes of hers narrowed into tiny little slits, before relaxing again. Innocent Pickle, naive Pickle. "If the dark will make me pretty, imagine the wonders it'll do for you." The smile that graced her mouth was completely innocent, just as innocent as the tone in her voice. "I bet you could be really attractive, also. Don't want to dream too big though." Her shoulders shrugged beneath RJ's arm, and then looked up at him. "I'm not a scaredy-cat." She said firmly, noddingher head along with her words. "I don't think I've actually ever been afraid. I'm really very brave." She lifted her chin slightly, her little Louisiana accent taking on a matter-of-fact tone.

Of course everyone was afraid of something; but Pickle couldn't remember being afraid. Except when her mother got sick--she was scared them. But it was a different sort of scared. Scared for her mother's health, and her father's health--but not an outright fear or phobia. "Do you think there are ghosts in there?" Her voice lowered to a whisper, glancing back at RJ. If she just ignored Freddie, maybe he'd disappear. Like a fly buzzing about their heads; easy to ignore. Maybe if Freddie walked close enough, Pickle could kick him "accidentally" in the shins.

She wanted to give Freddie the benefit of the doubt; that something happened to him to make him so nasty. The mention that she could be pretty had earned a snarky retort out of her, but there was no need for Freddie to see that it actually had hurt her. "Actually, I need the eggs to bake some things. I got busy studying, that I completely forgot to pick up eggs. It's supposed to be a surprise for my friend, but I'll set aside some cupcakes for you, Freddie. Since you seemed to like them so much, last time."

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Tags: Scout / Freddie / Becket / RJ / Olley / Pickle
Notes: Pickle is a nervous Pickle.
Outfit: Tah-Dah!

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[RJ TEACH]

RJ always felt like he had to be the adult when he was with Freddie. Especially in situations like this, when there was a poor little girl whose mental health was clearly not where it generally ought to be. RJ had to make sure that Freddie, otherwise known as the boy who had been born without a mental censor to check what he was saying, didn't offend her and push her over the edge. When they were playing video games and Freddie let loose a few slurs that was one thing. No one ever went into therapy because of something some idiot said while playing Call of Duty. Pickle might be put in intensive rehabilitation for years if Freddie said something overly rude to her. She just seemed so fragile and RJ shuddered to think of the scale of the mental breakdown that always seemed quivering on the horizon with her.

RJ grimaced as Freddie let loose his snarky little comment about her being pretty and such. His mind immediately went into damage control mode, searching for something he could do or say to make sure that Freddie got the message to shut the fuck up while still keeping Pickle safe and comforted. Ugh. He should never have brought along his asshole roommate for this. He was just going to make everything high strung and intense when really it was just supposed to be a quick trip down to the kitchen so she could get her eggs or whatever and go back to her apartment where she could play with her stuffed unicorns or whatever it was she did when she was on her own. RJ didn't really know and to be honest he was perfectly fine with it being a mystery.

"If the dark will make me pretty, imagine the wonders it'll do for you."

RJ loudly guffawed, utterly taken by surprise. Holy shit! Pickle had some balls! Why the hell was RJ so protective of her? That was fucking hilarious! Damn, he wanted to see that side of her some more. He extended his free hand to her for a high five. That would probably do some wonders for deflating Freddie's over engorged ego, or at least shut him up for a while.

"Ghosts? Naw. Though I did hear this one story from a senior when I first got here about how they'd had an old cook working here almost his whole life. Back in the 60s he was getting to be a bit too old to really keep functioning. He was like, 97 or something like that. Anyway, he started to be a bit forgetful and whatever. Alzheimers, you know? So he left a meatloaf in the oven for a bit too long and it started a kitchen fire. There was smoke all throughout the school, and when they finally got down there to help him they couldn't find him anywhere. There wasn't a body or nothin'. They just couldn't find him." RJ stopped his speech on the subject for a moment to see if she was at all scared, giving her arm a tight squeeze to further the impact of the story.

"They say you can still hear him asking you if you want seconds when you go down there at night, with just a faint smell of smoke in the air." He shot a devilish grin at Freddie, remembering the last time they'd been down there at night. "I swear, Freddie almost wet himself when he thought he smelled something burning. That's why we almost got caught, y'know. He was scared as hell and knocked over some pans!" RJ laughed loudly at just the thought of Freddie's face. He loved telling the story. It never failed to get an angry huff of a response from Freddie.

[FREDDIE FOSTER]

If Pickle wasn’t a girl—and really, it was only barely that she qualified—he’d have punched her square in the nose. Or at least threatened to. If Pickle wasn’t around to have insulted him in the first place, he would have punched RJ right in the arm. Or kicked his shin. One of the two. As it was, he glared. RJ he could deal with later. And he would, he thought, probably while he was sleeping. Some Sharpie and whipped cream ought to do; or he could just drench all his boxers in mashed up banana paste, although Freddie wasn’t too certain he was willing to put in the effort of mashing up all of said bananas just for the sake of some humiliation. The look on his face, though…maybe it would be worth it.

Snapping his mouth shut angrily, Freddie marched on ahead of his two companions whose murders he was now gleefully plotting as he surveyed the dim dormitory hallway with narrowed eyes and keen ears. Unable to help himself, he let out a loud snort at the suggestion that Pickle might not be terrified of the dark. Still unwilling to turn around and look at her, however, he satisfied himself with practically stomping down the hall as though in a leftover tantrum from her earlier statement.

Freddie had never been good at hiding his anger.

It would have been a lie to say Freddie didn’t know where RJ’s story was going. He was never, in a million years, going to hear the end of that one. “I wasn’t scared, asshole,” he turned around to glare ferociously at RJ, thankful of the low lighting hiding his flushed face. “I knocked them over to make it more interesting. And it was, wasn’t it?”

Naturally, he’d been terrified. White as a sheet by the time they’d raced back to the dorm room, and may or may not have had several unsavory dreams about meeting the same crispy demise as that unfortunate cook.

“I didn’t like your fucking cupcakes, Pickle,” he snapped, indignant child written all over his adolescent features. “For the record, they tasted like shit. I just ate them ‘cause I knew I had to be nice—” a short stream of muttered profanity followed him as he turned back around, throwing open the door to the stairwell with so much gusto, it was a wonder no one poked their head outside their doors to take a look. Practically charging down the stairs and first floor hallway, Freddie didn’t stop until he’d reached the back kitchen door. Glancing up once at the security camera pointed to the corner of the hall, he eased the door open slowly, silently mocking the idiot staff who still hadn’t learned the value of locks.

“After you,” through narrowed eyes and a tight jaw he spoke, holding the door open for RJ and Pickle to walk in before him. A rather elaborate, clearly mocking hand gesture accompanied the request, as well as one foot, stuck out in hopes of tripping his roommate as the beginnings of payback.

[PICKLE ABREY]

For a single second, Pickle looked utterly startled at the sound that RJ made. Her eyes widened, and she stared up at him, before her eyes relaxed and she broke out into a grin, readily giving him a high five back. So this must be what it was like to be cool. For just that moment, with RJ’s arm around her shoulder, and dishing back Freddie’s mean comments—she felt like she belonged. Not just that she was a tag along. In fact, she was pretty damn proud that she had managed to make RJ laugh. Her excitement died down as she listened to the story that RJ told her. She stared straight ahead, before turning those blue eyes back up at him when he squeezed her. Pickle looked relatively unphased. After all, she grew up in New Orleans. Where ghost stories were lullabies, a majority of the houses were said to be haunted, and old witchy religions scattered the streets. So one little story, that wasn’t at all chilling—didn’t seem to affect her much. However, there was a spark of an idea in her mind.

“I think he was scared.” Pickle whispered to RJ after Freddie’s little outburst. In fact, it was the same stage-esque whisper that Freddie had done just a little while ago, pretending to be secretive, but loud enough for the other person to hear. “Actually, you were even raving about how delicious they were, then Addison spilled the beans.”

[/b] Pickle’s brows raised up, a smile curling the corner of her mouth while her and RJ strode behind the angry Freddie. The distance that he put on gave Pickle enough time to lean over towards RJ for a moment, “I wonder if he can still get scared.” It was all she said, but in her mind, he was all she needed to say. She straightened out, but kept her eyes on RJ for just a moment longer. Hopefully he would catch on, because her mind was spinning with ideas.

“Why thank you, Fredrick.” Pickle chirped. Maybe he would have manners eventually, maybe he’d grow up to be a decent human being. She sucked in a calming breath while she stepped into the dark kitchen, and blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the darkness. Again, it wasn’t anything new. In fact, it was rather comforting, adventurous. Spooky. But in all the best ways. However, it went without saying that it was indeed really freaking dark. “I left my phone back in my dorm, do you have a light?” She asked, her voice automatically dipping into a low whisper. Not just so she wouldn’t get caught, but just because the darkness somewhat commanded it. It seemed normal and natural to talk in hushed whispers in the dark. “I’ve never been down here, where’s the fridge?” Came another question, squinting in the dark.

She wanted to pull the prank outright, right then and there. But it would be too rehearsed. She could wait Freddie out; once he relaxed, then they could scare him. That would be the best. For now, Pickle successfully kept the tremor of excitement out of her voice, while she took a few hesitant, cautious steps forward.
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Tags: Scout / Freddie / Becket / RJ / Olley / Pickle
Notes: Pickle is a nervous Pickle.
Outfit: Tah-Dah!

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