don't be offended by my FRANK analysis (Pickle!)

[TORRENCE KIRKPATRICK]

Normally, Kennedy wasn't a fan of showtunes. She loved to dance, but musicals never held the snarky girl's interest and she thought they, as a whole, were cheesy, overdone clichés. However, Kenny (a total hypocrite, it seemed), managed to enjoy a few, one of those being Wicked. In her very non-humble opinion, Kenny believed it to be far superior to Wizard of Oz and would tell anyone so. That morning Kenny was feeling more "wicked" than usual as she belted out "Popular" while preparing her dorm for a makeover of her own doing.

"Whenever I see someone, less fortunate than I
and let's face it, who isn't less fortunate than I?
My tender heart tends to start to bleeeeed..."

These lyrics were proving to be outlining the rest of the junior's day; her "friend" (and quotations should be used because, really, did Kenny have friends? She was an über bitch and kept "lackies" and those she thought of as annoying siblings.) Pickle, or as Kenny called her, Cucumber, was coming over to have her hair dyed. While Kenny had never had her own hair dyed because it was, like the rest of her, "perfect", she had dyed plenty of other's hair and considered herself an expert. Sure, Pickle was pretty the way she was, but Kenny was beginning to be annoyed by the mousy brown color. It didn't compliment Cucumber's facial structure nor her large blue eyes the way pale blond hair could. And Kenny would know, her super model mother had taught her enough over the years to know such things.

Finally, once the room was clean (little known fact: Kenny was quite messy), Kenny set up the large chair by her sink, many various hair products clustered along her counter. Grinning, Kenny clapped her hands together. She was thouroughly excited for this; not just the general excitement typical teenage girls get over makeovers, but the fact that she was helping Pickle/Cucumber/Green Vegetable get a guy.Not just any guy, either; Rj. Even though Kenny thought Pickle was beyond weird, she still wanted to give her an extra boost towards her goal. It was the least she could do, right?

A knock on the door disrupted Kenny's thoughts and she sauntered over, giving her hair a fluff. "Pickle!" Kenny opened the door and pulled the eternally wide-eyed brunette into her room. "I'm so excited, your hair will look gorgeous...er...when I'm finished!" Kenny trilled, ruffling Pickle's hair.

notes;; woooo it's crap! /got distracted by GI Joe towards the end
outfit;; Long purple tshirt, black crop leggings.
tag;; Pickle/Olley

[PICKLE ABREY]

This was uncomfortable, everything was uncomfortable actually. Kenny had been painfully persistant on getting her hands on Pickle's hair. She sucked in a breath and stared at herself in the mirror, old ratty towels in her hand. She looked over the face--that face she had known for such a long time. Large, painfully large eyes. Small mouth that contorted into pouts on its own accord, a straight little nose. She was thin without managing to be too bony, or too knobby. Void of any makeup, or jewels or fancy dress. Her brown hair fell around her face in unstyled layers. It seemed a bit shorter than it was, but when someone too the time to straighten it or take it out of its frizzy mess--it tumbled down between her shoulder blades in neat layers.

It was a mousey brown color that she had known all her life. Nothing special, nothing remarkable. It looked dull, and lifeless. An ashen brown, however--it was her hair. The hair she had known all her life. She touched it idly; and for the lack of styling she put into it--her hair was strong, healthy, silky. She let it fall back against her shoulders, and looked over her face. Kenny wouldn't exactly tell her why she was pushing so hard for this, but finally Pickle caved under the pressure.

This mousey brown hair was going to be a stunning blonde. Pickle squinted one eye, and tried to visualize the brown into blonde, and it didn;t work. She sighed, and slipped her feet into her flipflops. Ratty clothes, nothing that would be hurt too badly if bleach got on it. Last Pickle heard--bleach went in clothes. Not on heads. She had been having terrible nightmares where Kenny laughed and poured gallons and gallons of bleach over Pickle's head. With that image dancing in her mind, Pickle sunk down the hall.

She wanted to run to RJ and hide, even if it meant dealing with Freddie. Or maybe she could hide out at Addison's. A small puff of air passed her lips as she knocked on the door--and it didn't take too long before that door swung open. She stared Kenny in the face before she was pulled into the room, stumbling on her toes. Pickle was at a loss for words, but she clenched her eyes shut when Kenny ruffled the hair that she had just brushed out. Another defeated sigh, and Pickle ran her fingers through her hair and straightened herself up a bit. "This won't...this won't hurt, right? Or make my hair fall out?"

Pickle was a nervous pickle.

Outfit!