Dec 08, 2005 15:34
Principal Bristow is backstage with a bottle of sparkling grape juice and various small snack items. He awaits his thespians, although he's quite aware some may be sneaking in at the last minute.
[OOC: For the pageanteers and related folks only]
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"Why"--hop--"the"--hop--"blazes"--hop--"won't these things cooperate?"
He turned pleading eyes on the crowd. "Shoot me? Someone? Please?"
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He glared at the floor. "I hate everything."
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He gave his banthabell a warm-up clang.
Sullenly.
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He blushed. "Which might have been sharing just a little too much, huh?"
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"I used to wear tights every day for school. The trick to um, give yourself extra space in the...um...waist area," Rory busied herself with her branches, "is to make sure you strech up from the knee. They can be thin there."
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It mostly worked.
"Thanks," he said. "I'm going to go put on the rest of this ridiculous outfit."
He smiled. "And you're a very cute tree."
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"Might as well get this over with, huh?"
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"Yeah," she said heavily. She began to hum the funeral march. "Principal Bristow, we who are about to die salute you," she muttered, tipping two fingers to her temple and stomping towards the curtain.
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