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The library of Hillworth Grammar School was second only to the boiler room in terms of how little human traffic it would get in the course of a standard day. When there weren't midterms to cram for it stood mostly silent and empty, with the very occasional overachieving student or study group sitting at its large desks. The place always smelled strongly of dust, and for good reason: it collected a lot of it, with few individuals coming in to stir it up and carry some outside.

Plenty of students were tall enough to help restock and dust the higher shelves; however, only a precious few would subject themselves to the afternoon's worth of time it would take to do it all to the staff's standards, let alone set foot in there in the first place if there wasn't a good reason for them to. Simon was one of these precious few - he was very fond of the library because it was so still, and he was always more than willing to be used for his tallness whenever he stopped by. Which happened at least once a week, but hey, more good marks on his behavior record were never unwelcome.

So, with a feather duster in one hand and a cart of books in need of reshelving being pulled by the other, he slowly made his way through the aisles of the library. Dusting, stocking, adjusting, dancing--

Hey, it's not like there was ever anyone else in here. What could possibly go wrong?

Simon kept to his routine, innocently dusting, stocking, and dancing, for a good few minutes - not seeming to register the feeling of Franz's blazing eyes locked on him, which was rather peculiar considering how skittish Simon was and just how intense Franz's gaze generally was. Indeed, his captain's presence wasn't even a blip on his radar until the library's most sacred rule was broken in order to announce it.

He barely suppressed an earsplitting shriek when Franz's voice reached his ears. whipping around gracelessly and slamming his head into the shelf. His foot nicked the cart he was pulling, which lazily rolled to the space the blonde had been occupying before approaching the poor, petrified, miserable boy.

And petrified he was.

Right at this moment, the exchange he'd had with Elzo was ringing clear through his mind, he was battling with the possibility that those crazy rumors were true, Franz was stalking him and all the nightmares he had been having about being pursued by a sparkling Franz to end up being turned into his equally sparkly cheerleader vampire slave were completely justified. He couldn't speak, he just... stared at Franz's pleading eyes, as much as he didn't want to, looking hopeless and meek as your standard damsel in distress.

Something was off here - well, really, many, many things were off right now, but something was off about the way things were off. It was taking poor Simon a while to actually figure out what it was, and this was perfectly understandable, as anyone in their right mind would probably have a great deal of trouble focusing if they found themselves suddenly being manhandled.

He let out a strangled, stringy mewling sound in lieu of actually talking. He did that a lot. But god dammit, this was a serious invasion of his personal space, here! And in the vast, isolated space of the library, no one would hear him scream. He was doomed.

Except...

"H...hip roll?" Simon parroted quietly, blinking once, twice... no less than three times. He honestly wondered if he had just heard Franz correctly. The newest addition to the Polecats had gone from terror to confusion in an instant. His head tilted forward a bit as a hand reached up to rub at the spot that had rammed against the shelf.

There was an enormously awkward moment of silence and stillness, in which no further molestation or creepy sexual advances took place.

"You mean right now? I-in the library?"

Oh my god.

This was it. He was screwed, and painfully literally; the sanctity and silence of the library were to be forever destroyed along with what little dignity and masculinity Simon possessed. A sickly rational part of his mind wondered if they made rape kits for men.

In all of his school-spirited fervor, Franz had stumbled across the one way to get Simon over his fear of showmanship: by dissolving it with a more immediate, more intense brand of terror. Right now the boy was a traumatized putty in the cheerleading captain's personal-space-invading hands. His husky repetition of his demand was enough to propel Simon to peel himself away from the shelf, whimpering as he straightened his back, lifted his arms and broke into a hip roll that would make all the ladies at the dance clubs jealous.

Throughout his fear-propelled display of his dancing prowess, Simon was just waiting, just dreading the moment when his captain's hands would be on him again to realize the latest of his worst nightmares. When it didn't happen, though, he wrenched his eyes open (he'd sealed them shut so at least his trauma would be devoid of visuals), first the left then the right, and when he saw that Franz was merely staring at him from a safe distance he slowed to a jerky stop like a windup toy marching halfway across a table.

Franz's look was puzzling. He'd figured out a while back that Franz's looks were always puzzling to him, though, so this came as a great relief after the expressions he had been subjected to just a few moments ago.

Simon sighed the last of his adrenalin away, loosening his posture to his normal depressive slouch. It looked like there'd be no masculine deflowering happening in the library today, thank God. He was still horrendously confused, though, and so when he had put his voice back in working order he decided it wouldn't hurt to get things straightened out so he could start sleeping somewhat peacefully again.

"I... I'm sorry, but... I'm not sure I get what you're saying..."

Simon silently watched Franz as he paced and rambled, rambled and paced, whipped into action by the maelstrom of school spirit, his expression shocked into a brow-furrowed deadpan at what he was hearing. This... this was honestly what all of that freaking out was over?

"Secret... weapon? Me?" he repeated, disbelievingly. "Are you sure..."

Oh, but the eagle-eyed classmate in front of him was sure and was completely serious, that question had answered itself the moment it escaped Simon's mouth. He flinched violently as his personal space was invaded again-- but this time it was just his hand, oh thank god it was just his hand-- and he got an eyeful of Franz's desperation, the look having as much of an effect on Simon as a set of sad puppy eyes would.

"Well..."

How could he possibly say no?

"I... I g-guess I could try..."

Expectedly, Simon wasn't the type to protest - he made a good series of shocked and confused noises as he was grabbed and dragged away, but other than that he was mainly focused on keeping up so no one would trip. Which almost happened numerous times, and when Franz finally swung him into the gymnasium his wrist caught painfully on the doorframe with a thonk. Really, the poor boy was used to this sort of thing. Samson dragged him around like this all the time.

Franz was not Samson though, unfortunately.

At least the hula hoop thing was straightforward, for once. Simon grimaced briefly at its pinkness and dustiness. If they got a reprimand for this, the dust getting on his shirt would totally put a black mark on his neatness record - but there was no use questioning or arguing against someone like Franz, so the hoop-twirling had begun.

Simon quietly obeyed Franz's critique with curt nods, making small adjustments to his stance and his center of gravity - somehow, miraculously, while keeping the hula hoops alive and without fumbling once. He was uncharacteristically stone-faced with concentration. After several moments his waist was starting to accommodate a dusty, misordered, plastic rainbow.

"Wait a minute," another spectator piped up, "s'that Ferris up there? No way. No. Way."

Franz made a misthrow with a blue-and-white banded one, which caught on Simon's arm... and stayed there, the boy starting with a frantic windmill and tapering down to something more controlled. The same stunt went just as successfully with his other arm.

The supply closet was rapidly running out of hula hoops.