Prankster? Prankster. Prankster! /Tues

[MARIA-SOPHIA 'MOOSHIE' NIEVES]

So.

So.

Mitch McKay thought he could just tell people they had had sex, and he didn't expect any repercussions? Oh, idiot boy, he had no idea who he was dealing with! Moosh was Nemesis! Moosh was The Furies! Moosh was God damn Lorena Bobbit right now! Okay, so, she might not be cutting off any peckers, but she was going to get some vengeance! Petty, petty, vengeance on him and his entire team! On the eighth day, God said let their be awesome, and out came Moosh! Okay, but her histronic theatrics aside, she was quite annoyed with him. The date she had gone on with Mitch McKay had started great and ended... horribly, horribly, awkward and she'd really rather not think back on it. She'd rather just get even.

So while the lacrosse douches play, so does Mooshie Nieves, bitches.

Entering the boys locker room- which had the distinct smell of mixed colognes and balls that mingled ever so disgustingly- she looked horribly out of place. Probably because she wasn't technically allowed in here, what with her bojango and tots, but honestly who was micromanaging that? Her yellow hair was pulled up indelicately and held out of her face with a bowed head band, and The Runaway's blared in her ears. How better than to vindicate girls from doucher dates than by sabotaging a locker room to the tunes of the first all girl rock band? Um, no way, that's what way. She sang along, unloading her bag as she went.

"I'm a blond bombshell and I wear it well
You're momma says you go straight to hell
I'm sweet sixteen and a rebel queen
I look real hot in my tight blue jeans..."

Bucket? Check. Paste? Check. Sugar? Check. Wooden spoon? Check. Putting on her horribly pink rubbermaid gloves, she set to work mixing the sugar and paste together. Now, for the most part, her pranks were fairly innocent. She was more a creature of minor inconveniences than pure malicious intent. The sugar would dissolve eventually, the messes could be cleaned up. The glue would just make it stick for a while. Carefully, she made sure not to get any on her black skirt or tank top. The last thing she needed was for anyone to start whispering about how they saw Mooshie Nieves with a white stain on her front. Honestly, did the rumour mill ever shut down for the night?

"In the naked city,
spaces ain't that pretty
As I was getting dusted,
I happened to get busted
Oh yes, I was arrested,
oh God, how I protested
They beat me with a board,
it hurt just like a sword..."

She shook her bottom in beat as she plopped a glob into each urinal- which were already disgusting anyway. With the spoon she spread it sloppily, than inched the blue cake that served little purpose but for assholes to make not-assholes take a bite out of it, over the patch job. Oh, wouldn't it be funny when they got splashed with they're own lemonade!? Of course it would. She was giggling thinking about it. Moosh finished with some speed, before grabbing the saran wrap and heading to the stalls, lifting the seats to strech it across. It would be safe to pee no where! Oh it was great just to think about! Eat it, assheads!

Leaning over the porcelain throne, Moosh had no way to know that she had a curious observer in her midst.

Stuff on her body, yo.

[TUESDAY DAVENPORT]

If there were two things in the world that never coexisted, under any circumstances, ever, at all, they were Tuesday Davenport and sports. The extent of his athletic training had been back in Kindergarten, when his mother had signed him up for soccer practice, and he’d had to like, wear these little white things on his shins that looked like backwards lampshades. What their purpose had been escaped him to this day, since they hadn’t really done anything except be really heavy and hot and annoying to run in, and made him look really dumb, in his opinion. Then again, he’d always been too afraid to go near the ball, because, okay, you had to admit, that thing was scary. A soccer ball had like, killed that little kid in Airbud, right? Or had that been the dog? Did Airbud have a dog in it? Was that a thing? Well, still. Soccer balls had been scary.

Also, Bobby Bushman had always made fun of him for being a slow runner. But Tuesday had gotten him back, later. Three years later. With a cute little scheme involving shoes, socks, and super glue. Man, the memory of that day just brought a little giggle shoving itself through Tuesday’s mouth. He and his brother were such geniuses. They really were.

But anyways, sports were dumb. Which made the fact that Tuesday was currently sitting in the Baum Academy boys’ locker room rather awkward. But yolo. With people all over the place all the time and Pig and his brother always doing whatever it was they did in their room, the locker room during sports practices was the only place Tuesday had found where he could be alone. And he’d been looking for alone time more and more lately. He wasn’t quite sure why.

He just needed to think about things. He needed to think about Victoria, who shouldn’t even have been a thing he was supposed to think about like, at all, because…well, they’d ended things, hadn’t they? You weren’t supposed to think about someone after you ended things with them. So why was he still feeling her voice prod his mind like some kind of cane on a dog or something? He needed to think about Tate, whatever had happened there, he needed to think about November, and whatever was happening there. He needed to figure out his life.

And what he didn’t need to think about was his brother and Pig, and where they were right now. It was probably like the end of some hipster romantic comedy movie, with the credits rolling up the screen while the two of them relaxed on a picnic bench licking ice cream cones or playing checkers or singing some song with a random ukulele playing in the background. They had it so easy. Their relationship was so perfect, so defined, like a math equation that balanced out really nicely with X=7, whereas he, Tuesday, had a ton of remainders and decimal points and radicals in the denominator. Would he ever be able to find the perfect whole number?

Probably not. He’d always sucked at math. Seriously. He’d gotten like, a 10 on his math SAT. Was a 10 even a score you could get? Well, even if it wasn’t, Tuesday had probably gotten it. That was how bad at math he was. Anyways.

It was then that he heard the music, humming from the opposite end of the locker room, where the urinals and toilets and other really gross things were. Tuesday cocked his head and wandered over, curious. Oh hey, was that…was that a girl? In the boys’ locker room? And…oh God, what was she doing with the urinals? Well, this was certainly curious. ”And what’s going on here?” He shoved himself back into his normal mold, forcing the cocky-arrogant tone back into his voice as he leaned against the wall, crossing his arms and legs casually. ”I’m Tuesday, by the way.”

he ain't naked despite how hot mooshie is

[MARIA-SOPHIA 'MOOSHIE' NIEVES]

Initially she didn't hear him, given her head phones blaring the tunes of the first all girls rock and roll band in America. And, man, she was jiving. She was thriving. She was-- caught. Oh yeah, Mooshie was was definitely caught. Looking under her arm as she was stretching the saran wrap over the bowl, she saw the upside down figure of a young sir who was all crisscrossed and watching her. Standing slowly erect, looking over her shoulder, Mooshie removed one of her ear buds. "Uhhh. Hi." She gave her sweetest, most innocent, most nothing-to-question-here-good-sir-move-along grin. He didn't look like an athlete. Not by any means. And that's saying something: foot ball players had there bulk, soccer players had their lean tone, swimmers were a weird love child of the two. This guy was just... It looked like he made it a sport of hating all sports. Thin and lanky and draped in scene. Moosh relaxed a little. "Well... In most cases I'd try to b.s. you honey, and say I was cleaning or something... Buuuuut I don't think you'd believe me." She really was a charming girl, with a bright smile and vivid eyes. When in doubt, flirt flirt flirt.

Stepping out of the stall, Mooshie decided to carry on as if there was nothing amiss. What vandalism? No no no darling, this was just a little joke. The lacrosse douche- boys will love it! Tralalala. She spoke lightly as she began wrapping the next bowl carefully. "Just don't go telling anyone- Actually..." Her eyes started at his feet and glided up his languid frame. "You have some height, which I obviously lack... Care to become a co-conspirator in an act of righteous justice and soon to be hilarity? It's truly a noble quest. And, I mean- not trying to say anything- but the crowd I'm looking to annoy really doesn't look like your type of crowd, Senor Hipster Hippo. How about giving a girl a hand?" When Mooshie smiled like that, she had the appearance fo a naughty six year old, who had just put a whoopee cushion on her teachers chair. It was pretty, in a mercurial way.

Quickly, she finished the last of the toilets, removing the shocking pink gloves and tossing them in the trash with the rest of the evidence. "See, what I got going on here... well, it's going to cause a bit of a mess. And a mess is no fun to put on other people if they can just wash it off like no big deal." Yes, Mooshie wanted to be as annoying as humanly possible to the assholes. "Mind giving me a boost while I fill the shower heads with kool-aid? I'd be ever so grateful." She batted her eyes, and it was indistinguishable if she was flirting badly, or if she was pretending to flirt badly. Still, there was nothing coy about it. Perhaps he would appreciate that; Moosh would appreciate a girl not being a boy, teasing the angle of her hypothetical dangle. And, well, she'd be lying if she said this fellow sir wasn't cute.

But was he game? That was the question to question in this particular questioning situation.

[TUESDAY DAVENPORT]

Well, this was awkward. The girl totally looked like she’d just been caught by the police or something. Man, had he actually gotten that tall? He totally should not have worn so much black today. Oh well. Whoops. That was awkward.

"Uhhh. Hi."

”Uh, hey.” Yep, still awkward. Maybe he should have just left. Oh God, why hadn’t he just left? This girl probably thought he was the biggest creeper ever for walking up to talk to her like he owned the place or something. And like, it was the boys locker room, so he did kind of like, own it more than her, he guessed. Okay, okay, now he was making up excuses. Whatever.

"Well... In most cases I'd try to b.s. you honey, and say I was cleaning or something... Buuuuut I don't think you'd believe me."

Okay, she totally thought he was a cop. Or if not a cop, then like some locker room authority who the cops sent around to like, check that mischief wasn’t happening in the locker rooms and stuff. Tuesday was definitely not that either, though. He needed to shut this down. ”Nah, probably not. And quite frankly, I’d be a bit disappointed.” He tossed his head, brushing his hair cheekily to the side to reveal his laughing eyes, twinkling like bells on a jester’s hat. ”Cleaning? Really? Of all the sweeping and convoluted sagas you could’ve spun for me? That’s the best part of pranking.” He paused. ”Besides spray painting your tag, I mean. You can’t really beat that. But close second, definitely.”

"You have some height, which I obviously lack... Care to become a co-conspirator in an act of righteous justice and soon to be hilarity? It's truly a noble quest. And, I mean- not trying to say anything- but the crowd I'm looking to annoy reallydoesn't look like your type of crowd, Senor Hipster Hippo. How about giving a girl a hand?"

Did she even have to ask? A grin spread across his face, the type of grin he could only find right before pulling some super awesome, ridiculously original and devastating prank. It was the type of grin that pulsed with excitement as his heart began to race. ”Certainly, ma’am.” He bowed with his hand on his chest, the way guys in old Shakespeare movies and stuff always did, or whatever that guy’s name was, probably not Shakespeare, because he wrote plays, right? Yeah, something like that, oh well. ”Tuesday Davenport at your service.”

"Mind giving me a boost while I fill the shower heads with kool-aid? I'd be ever so grateful."

”But of course.” Damn, he was totally going with the chivalrous liege thing here. But whatever. Something about this girl just…called for it, you know? Like, something about the way she spoke. It was really…formal. But not in like an Inaugural speech type way, just in a like, sophisticated way. Like there was more going on under the words she was saying than what he heard. ”Kool-aid in the shower heads, eh? Interesting way to go about it. I might have gone for the baking soda myself, but whatever floats your boat.” The girl was doing something weird with her eyes, but Tuesday pretended not to notice. That was the polite thing to do, right, if she had like, a bug in them or something? He hurried over to her and, gritting his teeth, grasped her around the waist and hoisted her upwards towards the shower heads.