The Weston Broderick Picture Show {Misfits}

[RIPLEY "TRAMP" GWYNN]

It started off as a rather routine hangout. Angel, Tramp, Wes, and Xander all chilling out in a dorm. This time, they were in Wes and Xander’s dorm with bottles brought from Tramp’s stash in her own room. Nothing out of the normal, the little ragtag group spent their time playing video games, reclining on the beds, nursing bottles and joints. However, an idea passed through Tramp, and it was left to the brawn of the group to put the plan in action. In a strange turn of events, rather than having herself wrapped around Xander—Tramp was glued to Wes’ side. Each time he finished off a drink, she was pushing another into his hand. When he said he couldn’t handle it anymore, Tramp would only tease and taunt him until he took down another one.

Carefully though, because their plan wouldn’t work properly if they were having to clean vomit out of the dorm. Double Trouble, a.k.a. Tramp and Angel passed looks between each other, and just when it was looking glum—they were one man down. The moment Wes was down, a wicked giggle erupted out of an inebriated Tramp. Quickly, she rummaged through her backpack and started to lay out the clothes. Now, undressing boys was absolutely not a foreign concept to Tramp, but Wes was like her brother if anything. Not to mention, even if they denied it left and right—he had Angel’s name stamped all over him. So a drunk Tramp tried to undress and dress Wes as quickly as she could while the other two were distracted trying to roll joint. The clothes consisted of a very sparkly corset, gaudy pearl necklace, and a thong with garters and stockings. She opted out of heels, because this was a joke. She wasn’t trying to accidentally kill Wes, and Tramp was not going to sacrifice her precious shoes on Wes’ gnarly feet.

Brandishing anther small case, Tramp settled carefully on Wes’ chest, mostly balancing on her knees while she went to work. She carefully laid her pale foundation over his skin, layering it up to make him look particularly pale. And with some expertise, she painted the rest of his face into the garish rendition of one sweet transvestite from Transsexual Transylvania. A spring of mousse to give Wes’ hair a lovely bounce, and their work was done.

Tramp blew smoke from her lips, flicking her cigarette into an ashtray, looking down at her work as she went to her feet. While she was in her little Wes and Tramp bubble, she tossed a sheet over him to mask the surprise the best she could—plus, it’d be easier to heft him outside if his limbs weren’t going everywhere.

Carefully, she managed to drag a very knocked out Wes to the courtyard of the school. It wasn’t easily done, but Tramp managed to drag Wes out with her arms tucked under his. Luckily they weren’t too far from the courtyard, and she unraveled the sheet, leaving her friend in the grass. Then, as though he’d spring up and attack at any second, Tramp took off like a bat out of hell. She rushed back into the dorms, then into Wes and Xander’s room looking breathless and tired.

Unfortunately, it seemed to take longer than she expected, because her two friends were completely passed out. Then again…she couldn’t remember when they did pass out. “Weak.” She mumbled, kicking off her slippers, and wedged herself between Angel and Xander. She tangled her legs with the darker legs of Angel, and coiled her arm around her adopted sister, and pulled Xander’s arm around her waist. With a grin on her face, it wasn’t long before she too fell into dreamland.

Tags: Hedgie / Xander / Scout / Wes / Molly / Angel / Olley / Tramp / Monica / Tommy
Notes: ...How many Rocky puns can Olley fit into a single thread?
Outfit: Hope Xander has boner-control.

[XANDER SYKES]

Xander had spent the night before wondering what the fuck was going on. Seriously, he had no idea why Tramp was sort of giving him the cold shoulder and was all over Wes of all people. Right in front of Angel. Niiice. Not that he was jealous, or anything, because they weren't "official" so he had no reason to be, right? He wondered if that meant that he could go off and hit on some douche that would shag anything on two legs or his best friend's best friend, not that he would ever do that in a million years. He wasn't sure why other girls weren't as interesting anymore (and this was Xander, so the "l" word that wasn't lesbian never once crossed his mind), but that was how it was and Tramp had been his only girl since they met.

Okay, yeah, he was getting really tired of the current status of them being "official" or not, but all that was pretty much gone from his conscious mind after a few hours of alcohol and weed. And then his conscious mind passed the fuck out.

When his eyes opened the next morning in just boxers, he really didn't remember anything at first. It was kiind of hard to with the blaring headache and laggy movements. Well, that didn't stop his odd affliction. Like a zombie, he peeled his arm off of Tramp and went into his closet, taking out a shirt, hat, and pants. He only got to the first two when he realized what was going on.

Ohey, Tramp. And Angel. In the bed he was just in. Well, that was pretty fucking interesting. Then he noticed that one kid from that barbecue sleeping in the shower. Okay, maybe changing in there wasn't such a good idea. Leaving the pants on the floor of the bathroom, he walked out of the wide-open door and fell back onto the bed, somehow managing to fall right into a place where no one was so he wouldn't crush them.

God, he was tired. But he knew he wouldn't be able to fall back asleep and he didn't want to wake Tramo and Angel up, so he sat up, adjusted his hat (what possesed him to even grab the hat, he didn't know) and waited for them to wake up, very lethargic and not sure if his earlier assumption about not falling back asleep would last, though the sun blaring directly in his face and causing his head to throb might have helped to keep him awake.

Okay, don't puke, Xander. You've got this. You haven't puked from a hangover since seventh grade. He literally twiddled his thumbs, bored and focusing on not barfing. Because seriously, he did not want to clean that shit up, and he was glad that there wasn't any already. So he thought.

Then he noticed something else. Hey, his hat wasn't really floating on his head the way it should have on his black cloud of curly hair. Slowly, he brought his hand up to his head and felt something that was not curly hair. No, that was....

It couldn't be.

He jumped up again and ran into the bathroom to look in the mirror. Oh shit. Fucking shit. What is this FUCKERY? Xander's curly hair, one of the best things about him, something for the ladies to hold onto, was reduced to... cornrows? Who the fuck even...?

Wait, he was hanging out with Angel a lot right? Because Tramp was... oh. Oh god. He didn't exactly remember what happened, but he knew enough to make a conclusion.

Oh HELL no.

Nobody fucked with Xander's hair like this and got away with it.

He nearly stomped out of the bathroom, ignoring the kid and going straight to the side of the bed Angel was sleeping and started shaking her awake. Not violently, but urgently because he needed to know WHAT THE FUCK. "Angel Dihanie, wake up. Right now." he hissed, hoping he didn't wake Tramp up before he got his hair situation figured out. Because if anyone else saw him like this, ESPECIALLY Tramp, someone would be seriously die. Speaking of which, where was Wes? His very fuzzy memory told him something about him passing THE FUCK out last night.

[/justify]

notes; okay so i referenced scott pilgrim vs. the world and misfits. CLOSE ENOUGH. and the rocky references will come later, of course
OUTFIT

[ANGEL DIHANIE]

Oh, toast. Last night. Was insane. Or as they'd say in the eighties, insane in the membrane. It all started innocent enough: Super Mario Bros., a few joints, grins all around. Then Ripley pulled out a bottle of something or another, which Angel was never fond of something or another but she'd certainly not be left out. Her and Sykes- always Sykes, as her daddy's name was AleXANDER and that was too frech toastin weird- got into a laughter filled battle about who was superior Yoshi or Luigi. Angel obviously rooting for Yoshi, who was not a a totally lame tag along to his fatter yet superior brother. Between the two they depleted a good stock of the weed, and their drifting minds had barely remembered their counterparts. Their better halves, if you will. But, eventually, they remembered, and their eyes glanced over, seeing the pair comfy cozy, talking on the hushy hush.

A little ripple went through Angel's belly. It seem to hit Sykes as well, as a crease formed on his brow and he looked away. Hrmm. Maybe the weed was bad? No, that was ridiculous. How could she think such a thing?

So, Angel evenutally slept, ignroing the angry ripple in her rumbly tummy, and falling into a fairly insincere, alcohol and sweet Mary Jane fueled slumber. Weed never provided a good sleep. Usually Jack had to sing to her, as strange as that sounded. Otherwise she'd have nightmares of car crashes and... Well, it wasn't important. Stupid things. Anyway, it took her a while to fall asleep- real sleep-, and one of her legs tangling with one of Ripley's in the midst of the night. When it hit her, it was so nice.

And what felt like seconds after, she felt the morning poking through her eyelids, and more annoying, a voice prodding her awake. Uh oh, almost full name. She was a Bahiya away from getting a full on, no privileges. Into her pillow, she moaned bitterly, the yellow plastic rim glasses askew on her face and the feathers of the boa around her neck itching like nobodies business. "Dadddy... I'm sleepin... come on. I was..." Crud, what did Dad's like to hear? "Studying. Te rog, lasă-mă să dorm o vreme. Zece minute mai mult." Wait... this wasn't her pillow. This was Wes's. and that waxed leg was Ripley's. Heck, she was at school. Sitting up, her rich dark hair going this way and that, she straightened the non prescription glasses bitterly. She was still in yesterdays outfit, thigh fleece socks, Ghostbusters boxer shorts, and a pitifully thin green tee shirt. Hell, she'd been in a Yoshi Zone last night. "Wha-what is it?"

And then she saw him. Oh yeah, the cornrows. With a loud snort, she nudged Ripley awake, her head pounding with a gentle thump thump. "Rip Van Winkle, look at you're boy. He's ready to throw down some nines and some signs, Baby." Laughing Angel noted the beds pushed together, grinning at the case of drunken ingenuity. "You look good, Sykes. Is your head hurtin? I'll take it out in a bit. Unless you wanna rock a do-rag." Laughing, she felt around for the trusty tin, and began the process of deseeding, at which she had grown adept enough to do so with her eyes mostly closed. "Wake and bake? Jack, where's your-"

Looking around, she blinked a few times with her yesterday's mascara and eyeliner still clinging like a faithful puppy, the pulling one of the socks off her feet. She ignored the other as she realized something. "Hey... where's Wes?"

OUTFIT OF A SLEEPY ANGEL

[WESTON BRODERICK]

Knives. Motherfucking butcher knives, clearly once lying dormant in the back of his mind, were stabbing their way through his brain and out the other side. Maybe though his eye sockets, maybe his temples. Lucifer only knew. And…Jesus fucking Christ, why the hell did it have to be so bright? He was going to fucking murder whoever thought it’d be a good idea to open the blinds so goddamn wide on a Saturday—

Unless…What? No. This wasn’t…there was no grass in the dorm. Not this kind, anyway. Fuck. Grumbling something completely unintelligible even to his own mind, Wes rolled himself over onto his back, cursing the insane amount of time it took for his arm to move the distance to cover his eyes. And what was that god-awful noise? It was like—well, it sounded like birds chirping, but no birds in the whole world could ever possibly make such a horrendous din. So it had to be a trick. Headphones or something. Headphones and a bright flashlight, on the other side of which Angel would be grinning, and…But there was one more problem, Wes quickly (or not so quickly, given his current state) discovered. He was far closer to naked than any man should ever possibly want to be in public.

Eyes widening as much as they could, Wes moaned loudly as he curled into something of a fetal position, already throbbing head practically splitting with the effort of trying to remember how the hell he could possibly have gotten here—wherever the hell “here” was. It was like wading through a pit of molasses-mixed mud. They’d been hanging out together, the usual four, smoking and drinking; already, Wes saw his problem. Ripley. It’d been her he was talking with all night, and her who’d kept shoving drink after drink into his hand until…well, then he’d woken up. Fuck her. Fuck them all. There was no way he’d go outside in an outfit like this, being drunk and high had nothing to do with it. This, even his lethargic mind could tell, had Miss Ripley Gwynn written all over it. And by God if he didn’t walk himself right back into that room and wring her scrawny little neck.

It was far easier said than done, of course. Standing took effort. Almost as much as sitting. Not only was the world spinning and pulsing around his entire being, but there was a certain amount of…maneuvering…required, given this wonderful outfit and his desire not to flash anyone, if at all possible. Not to mention he’d never worn anything quite like it before. And why would he? Wes wasn’t a fan of woman’s clothing, unless it was on Angel or, well, females, generally speaking.

He staggered clumsily back towards the dorms, the scowl on his face only growing bigger once he realized he’d been heading in the complete opposite direction. Little did he know, of course, of the presence of Tramp’s make-up on his face or its surprising ability to accentuate his disdain to almost clown-like proportions. As he opened the door to the dorm (whoever was last out hadn’t bothered to lock it) and dragged himself inside, Wes looked very much like an anorexic, cross-dressing, demonic Bozo the clown.

“Who the fuu—Jesus, someone close the fucking blinds…” he grumbled, forearm thrown up over his eyes once more for protection, not even bothering to check whether or not sunlight had been allowed into the room. “I swear to God, I’m gonna rip all your fucking hair out and burn it with your motherfucking toes—” there was little coherence to any of his words, but the blatant threat was still very much there. Stumbling, Wes halted his advance at nothing in particular in the middle of the room, turning slowly so as to take in the whole view via squinted eyes. Swallowing hard as he glared vehemently at the room’s other three occupants, he spoke with a tone so gravely serious and a voice so scratchy that in reality, it only added to the ridiculousness of his situation. “So, which one of you was it?”


outfit: Oh, poor Weston...

[RIPLEY "TRAMP" GWYNN]

Oh, the cleverness of she. Honestly, she wouldn't have known what to do with Xander had he expressed his underlying jealousy. Then again, Tramp may have knowingly messed with him about it. Xander never mentioned that he wanted anything more than what they had, so Tramp never pushed the issue. However there had been a few incidents where Tramp had to drag a bitch out behind the school for making eyes at Xander. No, they weren't official, but it was quickly becoming known that Xander Sykes belonged to one Ripley Gwynn.

None of that came to her mind while she slept though. She simply had the horrible dream where she watched heavy objects crush her family while she screamed. This dream had long since stopped scaring her, so when she felt someone trying to wake her, she write calmly. Her hair had remained in the tangled bun from the night before. She blinked tiredly unraveling her arm from around Angel to sit up a little more. Then she noticed them. The cornrows.

A wordless shout of distress escaped her as she jumped to her feet on the bed and stepped over Angel, grasping Xander's head.

"No! No wake and bake until you take this shit out!" Tramp almost screeched, looking back at Xander's head in horror. She didn't like anyone messing with Xander's hair. Admittedly, it was his looks that first drew her to him. But shortly after, that mattered less. She got his cute little sister out of the deal and the hilarity of him freaking out when she got too close to the chemistry set he thought he was hiding.

Tramp jumped off the bed and started for the bathroom to hunt down a comb and conditioner, when she saw the kid in the bathtub. Ugh. When the fuck did he get here? With a look of utter disgust and a few thoughts of drowning the kid like an unwanted pup, she emerged with a comb and conditioner in hand. Just in time for Wes to walk in the room. Clad only in her tanktop and boyshorts and armed with hair products she snorted and tried to keep a serious face.

"Mornin' sunshine. Sleep well?" Tramp chirped, a little too chipper for her usual morning routine, before all but skipping her way back to Xander, pausing at the small iPod radio she had brought with her. "How about some mood music, yeah?" She leaned over, moving the products to one arm and turning on the iPod. And out of the speakers came the voice of one Tim Curry serenading Wes to the tune of Sweet Transvestite.

Tramp shimmied her hips to the music, her unpainted lips mouthing the words while she pulled a cigarette out of the pack on the desk and lit up, continuing her way to Xander--determined to get his curls back. "I'm just a sweet transvestite, from traaaaansexual! Transylvaaaniyaahaahaa!" Tramp sang along, the perfect picture of innocence. Right.
[/blockquote][/color]

Tags: Hedgie / Xander / Scout / Wes / Molly / Angel / Olley / Tramp / Monica / Tommy
Notes: ...How many Rocky puns can Olley fit into a single thread?
Outfit: She is so on this.

[/size]

[XANDER SYKES]

Ugh. Sometimes he hated Angel Dihanie. But not really, he just got tired of her trolling sometimes. She had no business waking up Tramp, and he didn't have enough time to duck under the bed and hide this atrocity from the only person who really mattered her. Well, at least she could help. Unless Angel had used some secret substance or something, or all his hair fell out. Oh God, what if he was bald forever? Okay, Xander, stop freaking the fuck out about your hair like a girl, okay? he thought, breathing. Then, heard Wes' voice and turned around, about to berate him about mentioning his fucking hair at a time like this...

For a moment, Xander forgot about his hair. Which was a big deal for him, and nothing light could ever even come close to taking priority over this disaster. Because who he saw wasn't Weston Broderick. It was Dr. Frank-n-Furter. The Rocky Horror Picture Show was seriously one of his favorite movies ever. No one could not like that movie, seriously. Except maybe Cash, since he would be the type to hate that movie because he was a stupid bastard.

It seemed he had lost his ability to laugh, though, because of the pounding headache. That didn't stop him from snickering, of course, because anyone who didn't react to that was a stupid bastard (Case and point. Cash not being here or invited here at all ever didn't matter. He still wasn't laughing. Logic.), and Xander Sykes was not a stupid bastard. Dude, where did that line even come from?

And then Tramp killed him. Figuratively. Oh God, this song. This. Song. If he didn't know which one of them it was before, he sure as hell knew now. And seeing has his hair still had slipped his mind, he started to dance and sing along.

"How d'you do, I see you've met my faithful haaandyman
He's just a little brought down because when you knocked
He thought you were the candyman.
Don't get struung out by the way I look,
Don't judge a book by its coveeeeerer
I'm not much of a man by the light of day,
But by night I'm one heeeell of a loveeeer"

Okay, maaaybe Xander shouldn't have sounded that much like Tim Curry, considering the sexuality of the character singing this song. And he probably shouldn't have been able to swing his hips like that. But come on, look at him. Wes was so pissed off it made it even funnier. God, this was seriously the best morning ever.

[/justify]

[ANGEL DIHANIE]

Angel, in a moment of beautiful Shakespearean irony given her an Wes's situation (of which existence she silently denied), could not help but think how Ripley and Sykes needed to be together already. In a moment of sleepy wonderment, Angel day dreamed their lives for a moment. A small wedding, probably in a bar, where the bride would surely get a black eye from a biker she left in a far worse state. Where the bride and groom were barely out the door to their honeymoon before getting the marital going, as it was a familiar dance to both. And, shiz bro, the name Ripley Sykes sounded fairly boss in Angel's opinion. Then far more children then either planned for, with THICK curly hair that was far to wild for any mortal comb to tame. They'd like science and would probably invent a technique to grow weed, which would get a crazy name like D.E.A.F. (Dreaming, Eating, Assifying, Fallacio: being the symptoms of said weed). And they'd retire from whatever career choices they decided to pursue, and go out with their boots on sky diving or spelunking or something.

Angel watched as Ripley fretted over her man- YES, HER MAN-, finishing rolling the joint with little reverence to her best friends rule of 'Not until Syke's hair was fixed'. French all that noise. "I think it suits him." Angel shrugged, her inflection vague. "He's the one who told me to do it. I mean, yeah, it was kinda a dare-" The exact words being from Sykes 'You'll never do that shit to my hair' which, come on, he should have really known better than to say that to Angel. "-but I think he rocks-"

Oh hey.

There was Wes.

In drag.

Huh.

Angel stared at her best friend as he stood before them, glittering like a prom queen, scowling like a gargoyle, bulge certainly not not impressive. She was unsure what to say or do, or even how it happened. "You... I like your pearls." Angel offered, face strained from her attempt to not burst out in a most un-diplomatic fit of pointing and laughing. And she was doing well. At least until Tramp turned on the music. Yeah, that pretty much killed it. Angel did not know what was air. In fact, it was as if she had never even heard that word before. Falling off the bed, Angel laughed heartily at the situation, the slight thumping in her head be damned.

Oh, but poor Wes. Her poor Jack. Trying to gain control of herself, she straightened the Hello Kitty crown on her head, and went up to him, snugging him tightly. Obviously this was Tramp's doing, and it couldn't be helpful that Sykes' was doing a song and dance number. "Oh, come on Jack, give a little smile!" Angel urged, smooching his cheek fondly. "It's a little funny." Looking over, she grinned at Sykes, giving a small applause. "Alright, now pipe down Cornrows." Back to Wes, she put one index finger on each corner of his mouth, lifting them to a little smile. "Your legs look great, if that's a consolation, maybe?"

[WESTON BRODERICK]

They were going to Hell for this. No doubt about it—Tramp especially. And if Wes had to be the one to send her there himself…well, he honestly wasn’t sure he had any qualms about the matter. Glaring even for a moment longer than he’d meant to, Wes was only about halfway to the closet (and the haphazard pile of clothes whose cleanliness honestly didn’t matter much at the moment) when the music stopped him dead in his tracks.

At first, he thought it was just his imagination. There was no way they’d do that—not even Tramp—she wasn’t half that clever, or near that stupid. But then, maybe she was a hell of a lot more than he’d ever given her credit for. Sticking his middle finger up high over his head, Wes stumbled the rest of the way to the closet, where he proceeded to uproot a pair of boxers and some manner of t-shirt. They’d have to do for now. He was stopped mid-step into them, however, by Angel’s voice. She tended to do that.

Scowling so extraordinarily that with the addition of make-up, his lips looked like they were in some sort of demented half-pout, he turned to face her. Beneath all the foundation, he was turning steadily scarlet.

“Ha. Ha.” The words came out as though scratched on sandpaper.

Watching her literally fall off the bed at his expense, Wes couldn’t help but feel as though his every pore was on fire. He’d done a hell of a lot of embarrassing things around Angel, and not all of them intentional, but this one trumped them all so tremendously he half considered throwing in the towel right there. Maybe it’d be better to just grab a change of clothes, walk right out the door, and never look her in the eyes again. But who was he kidding, really? He had nightmares about that sort of thing. Still, she wasn’t getting anything resembling a smile.

Even as she hugged him (and really, he couldn’t help the little look of surprise that flashed over his face; he was practically naked, after all) he remained silent, despite relaxing a bit beneath her touch. There was a small lift of his lips when she pulled back from the kiss, light as it was, and his blush most certainly didn’t fade for another few seconds. Fuck it all. “Not that funny…” he grumbled, shooting Xander a look that all but shot literal daggers across the room. Him, he could deal with later. And besides, like he was one to talk, looking like a twelve year-old girl on her way back from the Dominican Republic. Asshole.

He allowed for Angel to play with his expression without complaint, as was usual. Despite the mostly-incoherent grumbling emerging from his lips there was a small, amused spark in his eyes at her comment. “Aw, really? So you’re saying I should thank her, then?” He jerked his head in Tramp’s direction, finding it was somehow infinitely more possible to be without a headache when Angel was so close by. “Fat chance,” taking her hands by the wrists, he moved them gently away from his face and turned back to the pile of clothes. Quickly, he snatched a pair of boxers and tugged them over his legs, tights and all. They’d have to do for now. Wes then proceeded to tug at the strings of the corset in an unsuccessful attempt to dislodge it from his torso. Growing more and more frustrated by the second as the knots seemed only to tighten and that goddamn music simply grew louder and louder, he spoke after a good thirty seconds or so, glaring ferociously at Tramp. “Alright, very funny, really. Brilliantly done. Exemplary. Now shut that the fuck off, will you?” he nodded at the stereo, very much unable to take his supposed doppelganger’s voice for even a moment longer.

[RIPLEY "TRAMP" GWYNN]

Tramp was so determined to both get Xander's curls back and to troll the hell out of Wes, and normally--her plans to irritate the latter of the two typically backfired. However, this was going extremely smooth, and perfectly wonderful. It was only made that much sweeter by the sound of Angel's laughter, and the thud that went with it as her best friend fell off the bed.

She couldn't help the grin that was plastered on her face, and despite her usual no-teeth rule--it was broken this time by an honest to god grin that seemed to light up her entire face, and even reached those typically angry green eyes. She watched while Xander danced, and decided to temporarily abandon the hair product in order to grab his hands and dance along with him, singing in a quiet echo beneath his voice.

"Oh, it's hilaaaarious Wes! Maybe you should lighten up. Or try to join a local Shadow Cast." Oh, Tramp. She twirled the comb in her fingertips, her other hand resting on her hip while she watched him struggle with the corset. Amusement danced in her eyes, and she glanced at the radio. "No, actually. I don't think I will. I think it suits you perfectly. And take it easy on the corset, I need that back."[/b] Actually, she didn't. But it was fun to watch him pull and tug at the strings, fighting with the outfit. "If you like that lipstick though, you can totally borrow it." Tramp rasied her brows and nodded at her adopted brother. She wondered if he even realized the makeup yet.

She wandered back over to the dresser, pulling out the compact and flipping it up, aiming the mirror towards Wes. She doubted he'd get a good look at her handiwork from this far away; however maybe he could catch a glimpse of the splash of color? "Really though, you look beautiful." Her face went very serious as she nodded a few times, before she snorted, her lips struggling and twitching to keep from grinning again. Even still, she stood--almost guarding the stereo , her hips swinging from side to side with the music. Her green eyes focused on Wes's face while her own lips exaggerated the lyrics, mouthing along to Tim Curry's voice blaring from the speakers.
[/blockquote][/color]

Tags: Hedgie / Xander / Scout / Wes / Molly / Angel / Olley / Tramp / Monica / Tommy
Notes: .She is so on this.
Outfit: Outfit.

[/size]

[XANDER SYKES]

Xander decided that the females of thier group were less of females and more of trolls. But that was perfectly okay at the moment as he danced with Tramp and Wes continued to fume, even angry-with-angel-ish, because the way Xander saw it, Wes never really got mad at Angel, at least not for long. Then he decided that he wasn't mad at Angel, he was angry at Tramp and was directing his anger at the whole room. Which was obvious, but count the fucks he gave.

Of course, Xander was a bit of a troll himself, so when Wes said to turn the music off, he instinctually stopped dancing and turned it up. Fuck his hair, this was great. This was one of the reasons he lo- liked Ripley Gwynn. He would never ever forget this. Ever. And would bring it up often just to piss him off. Now, it probably wasn't a good idea to piss off the person you were living with, but again, count the fucks Xander gave. You still get a total of zero.

"Aww c'mon, Wes!" He had timed the question perfectly, it looked like. You could come up to the lab and ah... see what's on the slab." He laughed a bit. "I see you shiver with antici......... pation." He grinned as he finished the word and started dancing again. Oh god this was perfect. Nothing could make this better. Seriously.

And then the song changed.

It was Toucha Toucha Touch Me. He at Wes, then Angel, then Tramp, and back to Wes and Angel, troll face totally on. Okay, he wasn't going to sing this song, because fuck you and his voice could not reach that high without intense pain. And since Wes was now the object of attention here, that would not happen. But someone had to...

"Hey Angel, you know this song? 'Cause I think Weston-furter here would love to here it from you."

[ANGEL DIHANIE]

Okay, now, on one hand Wes was getting really annoyed. His black eyes, which were usually soft and warm like a snuggie, were narrowed and hard. His lips, so full and pink and pillow, were thinned despite the smeared lipstick staining them. And she was certain that pink glowing from his cheeks was not the heavy amount of blush that Ripley had applied most generously. On the other hand: It was really, really, really funny. It was one of those things that if one thing had been taken away, it would have been considerably less so. Xander's throaty, and rather impressive, impersonation. Ripley's cool and collected stance, though it was obvious laughter was brimming those green eyes with such a frenzy it must have been painful.

But probably what did it most was how SERIOUS Weston look in his ridiculous garb. Even with the boxers pulled up- Seriously, he pulled them up over the stockings! How could he not crack even a small grin? This was grade a quality!

Though she tried to melt his anger away like an ice cube in July, her stifled snickers couldn't be helping the situation. Her poor Jack! She wanted him to not be uncomfortable. Though a part of her wondered how many students had watched his walk of shame, how many Baum whores knew that the heat he was packing was impressive heat indeed. And, to be frank, Wes was a grower, not a shower; though he showed quite well. As much as Angel forced their friendship to stay platonic after the agreement two years ago, neither could really help but have wandering eyes as the other flaunted so shamelessly. Their openness was both a beautiful and painful part of their relationship. Painful in the sense of blue balls, mind you. And yes, ladies could get blue balls. Ripley fondly referred to it as 'S'plody Ovary Syndrome' though Angel never liked to think about herself having ovaries.

Angel wheeled around at Syke's idea. And in her opinion, it was a glorious one. She did, in fact, know this song quite well. And it would be good for Wes to see someone else be embarrassed, and not just him. With a smiley nod, she reached her hand up behind her, and stroked Wes's powdery cheek. "I was feeling done in....Couldn't win. I'd only ever kissed befoooore." Angel chimed, fluttering her eyes at Tramp as Columbia and Magenta put their two sense in. "I felt there's no use getting... Into heavy petting... It only leads to trouble and... seat wetting." With a swift movement, she gave Wes a gentle push into the computer chair behind them, her grin becoming more devilish by the second as her words became more song and less speech.

There was a silkiness to her movements, despite the men's (Weston's actually) Ghostbuster boxers and Hello Kitty crown. "Now all I want to knooow... Is how to go... I've tasted blood and I want more..." Her fingers weaved into her hair, a sultrish smile crossing her face as she tossed Sykes the child's crown. When her eyes opened, as they had closed with the music, a mischievous glint caught Weston's gaze, and the kiss on the corner of her mouth perked. "I'll put up no resistance. I want to stay the distance. I've got an itch to scratch!" Que the electric guitar strum, and a fluid rock star movement to accentuate this by Angel. "I need assistance!"

The chorus was sung in a silly, gleeful, way. Angel pranced around the room like a ballerina on Ecstasy, the feather boa unraveling itself around her neck. She hopped on the bed and jumped a few times, thick eyelashes fluttering with unseemly innocence to the song. "Then if anything grows.." She sank to her knees, facing Ripley, as if discussing this in song. "While you poh-ooose.... I'll oil you up and drop you down!" Quickly she kissed her dearest female friend upon her cheek, then turned to face Sykes. "And that's just one small fraction of the main attraction-" El-oh-el because Sykes's is a nerd. "-You need a friendly hand!" Her hand was in the face of the boy claimed by Ripley, and shoved him back in the bed. "Ohhhh! I need action!"

With a delicate prance she hopped off the bed, went back to Wes, and promptly sat in his lap, too giddy to continue singing at the moment. This was what she loved about her friends. There was never a dull moment, never a moment where she didn't have this wide smile on her face that made her grin so very alive. As her finale, she merely snugged into her Jack, and kissed him upon his forehead, before letting out an exhausted "CREATURE OF THE NIGHT! and falling to the floor limply, out of breath, and full of thick, chiming, echoing laughter.

[WESTON BRODERICK]

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” his voice was dry as dust. Wes glared his almond eyes at Tramp and Xander, well aware of the fact that, had it been the curly-haired boy in his place, he would be laughing just as much as they were now. It was a good joke. But horrible. Downright awful, really. One day, of course, he’d get them back for it; silently, he swore it. Tramp would get double the punishment, as there was no way he’d lay a malicious finger on Angel.

Grumbling yet another unintelligible string of swears, Wes continued to tug uselessly at the garment, though for what it was worth, the top seemed to be coming a bit looser. He started, however, at the mention of lipstick. “What the hell are you—?!” wiping the back of his hand across his lips, Wes looked down, mortified at the large red streak the movement had left there. “You didn’t.” he was calm. Cool. Livid. Of course she had. Tramp would bend over backwards to humiliate him. Why in God’s name had he ever taken that last drink? Or the first. Unable to turn in time to avoid catching a glimpse of himself in the compact, Wes scowled vehemently as his face turned a blush so deep it was near vermillion, concentration once again turned to the task of pulling the ghastly corset off him.

He’d just succeeded, in fact, in freeing his shoulders from the thing when the new song started.
“Really?” There was no hiding the exasperation in his voice as he pulled the remainder of the corset off, shooting Tramp a wicked glare when it fell to the ground, probably not ever able to be used again. Oh well. Her loss.

Truth be told, Wes didn’t hear Xander’s suggestion. In fact, he hadn’t the slightest idea of what was going on until he felt Angel pressed against him, her hand tracing a gentle line down his cheek. But surely, she wasn’t going to…? For a split second, his eyes widened. He cleared his throat. Not in protest, by any means. He fell back into the chair easily, finding himself suddenly firm in the belief that Angel could serenade him any time she so wished. Spontaneously, if she wanted. Wes watched Angel easily, eyes never leaving her as her words turned to silk and she ran her fingers through her hair and gave him that smile, that little smile that somehow seemed to be intimate and mischievous all at once and shit.

For a moment—a panic-stricken, throat-clearing moment—Wes found himself desperately trying to think of something, anything that wasn’t Angel prancing around the room in his boxers, singing songs about the one thing they’d never agreed to speak of again, no matter how much he might have wanted to. Or well, she wanted to. But no. Not here. Not now. However, it was far too late; Wes’s cheeks flushed brilliant red again as he felt himself go hard, scooting back a bit further in his seat in an (unsuccessful) attempt to hide it. God dammit. She had to have known this was coming, too. Seriously? You didn’t just…sing about that sort of stuff…for the sake of singing…in front of boys who’d clearly…well, she had to know, didn’t she? It wasn’t like he acted around everyone like he around her. And if she really had no clue, then maybe it truly was pointless.

Clearing his throat again, Wes’s eyes widened significantly as Angel sat herself in his lap, offering something of a small smile that only just hid his otherwise-obvious embarrassment. Oh, who was he kidding? All he had on were boxers and those goddamn stockings. There was no hiding it. And she probably noticed and she was probably freaked out and watch, she’d never talk to him again. Never kiss him, at least. Seriously? Was it that difficult to keep himself calm around her?

Of course, he had his answer.

Wes closed his eyes as she snuggled into him, unmoving beneath her arms for fear that something, anything he did would make her leap off him in disgust. She did jump away, although for the finale of the song, and he found himself breathing a small sigh of relief. So either she hadn’t noticed, or she hadn’t cared. Good. Both were fine. He could deal with either.

Wes joined in her laughter with his own nervous chuckles, glancing awkwardly around the room for something, anything to hide this. Pants. He needed pants. Now.

“Right. Well, I’m just gonna…Go wash this off. Good job, though, Sal. You uh…sounded just like the soundtrack,” he motioned to the make-up on his face while standing awkwardly, trying to keep his back as much to Angel as was possible without being too obvious. Hands strategically placed in front of his package, Wes then proceeded to half waddle, half run his way to the bathroom, praising some higher power that the door remained but a few steps away. Once inside, he closed the door immediately and set to work scrubbing the powder and lipstick off his face as though his life depended on it, not at all surprised to find the blush hadn’t faded by the time everything else had.

[RIPLEY "TRAMP" GWYNN]

Tramp damn near lost it while Xander quoted Frankenfurter—and that wasn’t even the beginning of it. Oh yes, the songs would keep spewing. And Angel seemed to have this one down, because almost immediately, her sister from another mister burst into song. Tramp grinned, crossing her arms while she leaned on Xander watching the show. If this was somehow supposed to ease Wes’ distress, they were sorely mistaken.

Her arms opened to welcome Angel with the kiss on her cheek,

“And drop you down, down, down, down,” She purred in the background along with Magenta and Columbia while Angel took the chorus. Though the purr didn’t last too long before the laughter erupted from her mouth. It wasn’t just Angel’s little dance that set her over the edge—it was the expression on Wes’ face. The way he watched Angel. The way that Tramp knew exactly what was going on down below.

Finally, her legs gave out, though she desperately grabbed at Xander’s arm to try and keep herself on her feet, but it didn’t help. Instead she ended up on her knees, clutching his arm while laughter wracked her entire body. Her knees slid out from under her, dropping her to the ground, before she gave up and just let herself fall backwards at Wes awkward-walking his way to the bathroom. Her laughter were almost screams while she clutched her ribs, gasping desperately for air. Her legs flailed on the ground, pounding away at the floor while she was wracked with laughter.

“Holy mother of God. That was so worth it. Oh God, oh God.”[/b] She gasped, snorting loudly before rolling herself back into laughter. “Angel, if you could bottle that shit, it’d outsell Viagra. Did you see the way he, with his, and he just—“ The best part of waking up, was Wes’ humiliation in your cup!
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Tags: Hedgie / Xander / Scout / Wes / Molly / Angel / Olley / Tramp / Monica / Tommy
Notes: Wahh, sorry it's so short. D:
Outfit: Outfit.

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