fandomhigh | Pageant Rehearsal

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!event: pageant

Pageant Rehearsal

A sign is posted outside the Fandom High theater:

Any Person Entering
Will Be Assumed
to Be a Part of
the Pageant and
Will Be Treated
Accordingly

Inside... Dean Bristow sits, looking over some plans...

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Anakin tried to come up with a way of describing that evening that wouldn't make him come out looking like an idiot and gave it up as a lost cause.

"He was determined to try his, um, feminine wiles on the Dean." Anakin swallowed. "There was lingerie involved. I'm pretty sure I'm sworn off seeing thongs and push-up bras as sexy for the rest of my life."

"I finally talked him into a long black dress and some strappy heels. The Dean, was, well, not amused."

Angel blinked. And blinked. And blinked some more.

"That... might have pre-emptively knocked out the possibility of perfect happiness for at least a month."

"Glad to help out," Anakin said. "Let me assure you that whatever mental image you're having in no way comes close to watching him strut around asking if the dress made him look sensually sophisticated or something." He closed his eyes. "It'll haunt me forever, I swear."

"That's a special kind of hell," Angel agreed. "And I've been to hell. I'd know."

Anakin looked at Angel and decided not to ask. "Uh-huh, he nodded instead." He spread his hand out to encompass the rest of the theater. "So this is punishment for you, too? Or are you a fan of general theater as well as music and dance?"

"Yes, and yes," Angel said. "Dean Bristow thought this would be a good show on my part for my redemption. Though I do actually like the theater. And Christmas."

"I'm guessing you're going to be the angel, then, because of the name thing and this school's love of the strangely literal interpretation of all things?" Anakin shook his banthabell. "I'm not sure exactly what they'll be dressing me as. I'm a little worried. I mean, if I end up as a sheep or something, it won't be pretty."

"Yeah, Archangel Gabriel. Could be worse. Could've been the baby."

For a moment Anakin looked stricken. "I'm not playing that Chosen One, dammit. I refuse to wear swaddling."

"You probably have the legs for it though."

"You think?" Anakin glared at Angel. "Wait. I'm still not doing it."

Angel held up his hands innocently. "Wasn't volunteering you. Usually they have a baby doll for that kind of thing, only..."

A look of horror crossed his face. "You think they'll use a gremlin?"

Anakin's eyes got large. "They might. Maybe it'll sing 'O Holy Night' or something as a terrifying kind of finale."

He kicked one boot against the other. "And to think that a few months ago I didn't know what a gremlin or a zombie was. I think I miss it."

Angel shrugged. "There's worse things to deal with. Though I say that without having heard either of them sing."

"Now I have an image of zombie carollers. Thanks for that."

"Could shake the gremlins instead of bells."

Anakin got a gleam in his eye. "Now that puts me in a holiday spirit. They stole my bell, the little bastards. I got it back, but justice must still be served."

"They stole Callisto's clothes too, didn't they?" Angel pasued. "Um - not that I looked. When she didn't have them."

"Uh-huh," Anakin replied, smirking. "Sure you didn't look." He looked across the theater. "She was part of the naked Triad crowd, then? Almost sorry to have missed it. Not sorry enough to give up contortionist memories, though."

"Apparently," Angel said. "I woke up the next morning to find her half-naked and wearing my boxers."

"I almost never have that happen to me," Anakin said with a slight pout. He stared at where Death was slinking across the floor and doing jazz hands and realized he was one of the only ones who could see it.

He should probably help out.

"I think I'm gonna go, and I can't believe I'm saying this, help Death teach us to dance."

"Good luck," Angel said, with the grimness that would normally be reserved for someone going into battle.

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