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REGULAR RP: Hillworth Polecats, Gooooo!

Touching Base: Seymour


"Yo Simon, back here!"

Shambling into the bleakly-lit chemistry classroom, Simon snapped to attention when he heard a familiar voice reach his ears, a relieved smile revitalizing him a bit when he recognized who it was. He followed the voice to a table wedged into the back corner of the room. Another student with an unnaturally round dome of clean-cut blonde hair was sitting at it, feet propped up on the desk while he could still get away with it, beckoning his dormmate over with a friendly wave.

"Heh, you look like hell," he chuckled as Simon took a seat next to him. "Gym class?"

"Yeah..." the taller boy responded, propping his head on his hand.

"Dodgeball?"

"Uh-huh."

"And that douche from the rugby team swiped your pizza?"

"Mmmn."

"I feel ya, same thing went down with Samson and I yesterday. We're in gym together again, right?" He finally removed his feet from the table, and plucked his glasses from their perch on his nose, wiping them off with the aid of his uniform sweater vest. "Everyone was wondering where you were, thought you'd chickened out or something. Didn't think we might actually be separated this year, yanno? It's not like we're joined at the hip or anything, sheesh!" Replacing his glasses, he folded his hands behind his head. "Especially now that you got that cheerleading gig, and I really still don't get how Franz talked you into that one, I mean, seriously. I thought we warned you about him."

Simon shrugged. "I guess I just got unlucky... But really, I don't think it's going to last too long. It's not like I'm exactly cheerleader material, right?" he responded, chuckling nervously. "He'll take one look at what a wreck I am and kick me out. So don't worry about it."

Snickering, the blonde agreed, "You gotta point there, Simon, you always do. It's why we keep you around, after all- anyway, check this out, looks like Samson was in here last hour, he left us a message and they haven't wiped it off yet." He gestured with a finger towards the tablespace in front of him. with a lopsided grin. A short message had been scratched into the varnished wood with ballpoint pen:


__________TRIPLE F REPRESENT, how's it going guys?
_______________this class is going to suck monkey d**k

______p.s. Seymour, tell ferris he's a f** for the cheerleader thing


"By the way, he wanted me to tell you you're a f** for the cheerleader thing," Seymour parroted, grinning more broadly.

"You guys..." Simon sighed, his gaze pleading at the ceiling for deliverance from his dormmates' teasing. Last year it had been about a broken middle finger. He decided that last year's joke was preferable to this one.

"Anyway, good to know I'm not gonna suffer through this class alone. I've already failed it twice," Seymour smiled. "You think I can bum off your homework later?" Simon gave him a incredulous expression, and so the boy backpedaled, "Or, ya know. We can study together or something..."

Seymour was a notoriously bad student - his failing grades is what had pushed his parents to enroll him in Hillworth in the first place, and the transition was met with what one would call limited success. On one hand, his scores hadn't changed much at all, but... on the other hand, he was now writing his barely acceptable test essays and getting his 61 percents in multiple choice exams without having to resort to cheating. He was a slacker, he was a bad note taker, and yet somehow on top of all of that, he was a know-it-all. He was also one of Simon's closest friends.

How and why they'd learned to get along so well was a mystery: most guessed it had something to do with how they and Samson were all visually impaired and had similar names. They just fit together. The Triple F Brigade, a bullymagnetizing force that unsavory types of all grade levels could not resist the allure of. Together they'd endured more teases and practical jokes than an entire A/V club. This year was probably going to be no different.

It had become tradition.

"But yeah, no hard feelings, right?" Seymour asked. "About the whole thing with the Polecats, I mean."

"No, it's okay, really." Simon gave a nervous smile, scratching the back of his head. There were never hard feelings with Simon; that had been well-established years ago. "I just hope it doesn't get in the way too much before I finally get cut."

The other boy responded with an earnest grin and a thumbs-up an inch away from his friend's face. "Don't you worry, Simon! You'll be back with us before you know it! Anyway, I think it's time to shut up, I see syllabuses getting handed out. Not like I need one, I have the whole thing memorized at this point..."

REGULAR RP: Library Dancing

Hobby Shoppers~

REGULAR RP: I HUNGER!

PANTY RAID

PHASE 1
PHASE 2

[SOLO 1] : Can't Accept These Strange Conditions


Sigh...

With an unenthused flop that had ceased weeks ago at even trying to sound like a comfortable fluff, Simon's head dropped fitfully onto his pillow for what felt like the twentieth time in the past five minutes. It was normal for him to have trouble sleeping, really. It didn't take very much effort at all to feed him the nightmare fuel that would keep him squirming anxiously into the graveyard hours of the night. Samson and Seymour had since learned to leave him alone when he got in a state like this, since none of their helpful methods seemed to work on him - besides, hearing him sigh and flop every few minutes was significantly better than hearing muffled crying for half the night, or worse yet, bolting up at four in the morning screaming uncontrollably.

They had both heavily suspected that the treatment he got from Franz would start up the screaming thing again. They hadn't been entirely wrong.

On this night in particular, however, he was neither plagued by his usual cocktail of fears, nor being kept tethered to consciousness by a cold chain of despair. Instead he was distracted. Distracted and confused. If one were to come along and ask him how he was feeling, he would have averted his gaze and answered, I don't know, and drawn back into himself, fidgeting.

I don't know.

That was the whole problem.

It was likely understandable, the confusion. Anyone else in his position probably would be. After all, despite all of the admittedly weird happenings in Destiny City going on lately, there was a key difference between hearing about a sighting from a guy who knew a guy and suddenly finding yourself in a situation that could very well become one of those sightings. Being a participant turned out to be a lot more personal paradigm-shifting than being a spectator. This had happened to him twice now, the first one being so prevalent in recent nightmares he was no longer sure what of it was real and what were just exaggerations and embellishments provided by his imagination.

The second time, however... the second time he was sure would never be tainted or distorted in such a fashion. It would remain crystal clear in his mind forever, a memory that was polished to blindingly bright by attempts at forgetting or suppressing it.

Another sigh, another turn. Now he was flat on his back, staring into the darkness he knew contained the ceiling. He could hear Seymour snoring some feet away. It did not contain the distracting power it normally did.

But nothing short of an impending apocalypse with a widely broadcasted time limit would be able to distract him at this point, probably. He had to face it: today had been weird, there was no better word to describe it. It had also been completely terrifying, but he was well used to terrifying. Being chased by monsters was probably something he could get accustomed to. Being told by a talking cat that he could do something against said monsters, however, was not.

Alba he could understand. From the short encounter he'd had with her, she definitely seemed like the hero type, and had since proved that she was. But himself? He could not say and think "no way" enough times to even begin articulating his thoughts on that. He wasn't the hero type - hell, he was more of a damsel-in-distress type than anyone else. Simon was not unaware of the fact he was a notorious coward. With this in mind, it was beyond his scope of belief that the plum-and-green pen that cat had horked at his feet had truly been meant for him. He was not a hero. He was not strong, or brave, or any of those traits one could look up to.

He wasn't supposed to be special.

That cat would probably come back anytime now- tell him there'd been a mistake, that the pen had been meant for someone else. And when that happened, he would be ecstatic to return it.

[REGULAR 2] : I`m not alone?


Simon and Elzo learn of each other's identities as sailor senshi in an encounter one can only describe as "ambiguously gay."