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He'd given away a few of the picks, Roch thought, and each time, when he opened his little box, there was the same amount as there'd always been in! It was jackin' AMAZING to the punk boil. So he was going to share them with his best pals. He'd called Nahm a little earlier, asking if he could come over. And that was why he was heading for the Monster Dorm, his guitar summoned and slung over his shoulder, a particular pick in his pocket.

He headed inside, going to the grue's room without needing to ask for directions. Idly he reached up, rapping twice on the door before bellowing, "NAAAHMM! Y'left your jackin' playboil in my room again!!" at the top of his voice.

Such a great friend.

"I was pupsittin'," Roch drawled. "So I got two nine year old lil cousin's that got a good eyeful of Miss Pumpkins. Their dad's gonna kill me soon as he finds out," he added as he headed into the room. "I blame you, man, all you."

He dug the pick out of his pocket, showing it to the grue. "See this, though?" he asked. "These things are awesome. So I've come to give you one before I die."

"Not just any pick," Roch said, sounding much like a telecommercial. "This lil baby, no matter how many you give away, always has the same amount in the box! It belonged to the uncle I never met," he said as he dropped down onto a chair. "His weapon was a guitar--an acoustic," he explained. "So Gramps and Dad gave me his box of picks. I was all 'nah, what if I lose one?' right? But then I gave one to a--ah... friend of mine, only to count the ones left. Same number. Like it never happened."

He had no clue why, having not paid much attention to minipets in the first place. But he was staring at the pick like he'd found the unholy grail.

"That's the weird thing," Roch admitted. "He had these before he went to school--and he died when he was a Hob," he said, frowning slightly. This was one of those things that really messed with his head if he thought on it too long.

"Maybe Gramps did it for him or something," he decided. "That old jacker's got enough skill for that sort of thing, I bet. But it's like... a serious sin if it isn't used properly at least once, so gimme that," he said, grabbing the pick back. "Any requests you got WILL be ignored," he added cheerfully as he tuned his guitar.

Roch thought about it--then started picking out, slowly, Mary had a little lamb.

"Dude, no makin' fun of my EPICNESS," Roch told him--almost straight faced. Then he grinned, snapping a quick shot of the fallen grue with his eyephone (lightning quick phone reflexes, whut?) and started to play--

Chopsticks. On the guitar. IDE... OTL

By now, even Roch was laughing. He gave up on playing until he had wound down, still grinning like an idiot as he played a quick riff before starting up a fast paced song.

When he was finished, he grinned and held out the pick to the other boil. "There we go," he said. "All yours."

"Hell, if you lose it, I can always get you another!" Roch said cheerfully. Then he turned a little bit serious, still grinning, but with excitement. "Man, I GOT to tell someone," he said. "You know how Hobs have mentors? I got a trick or treater named Nox. And he gave me the MOST epic job. You ever heard of the battle of the bands?"