fandomhighdorms | Entries tagged with victor mancha

craftyladyparts.livejournal.com

Party. Party. Party. Party. Party. Party. PARTY!

Guess what time it was on the sixth floor, people. You can have a hint. The hint is "party." It said so in a banner in the common room.

It's Not Just St Patrick's Day!
It's Saturday!
Let's Party!

There were chips and a veggie plate and some sandwiches. There was water, punch, and lemonade. There was music at a level that should keep things lively here without disturbing people on lower floors.

And oh my god, there were even some games, you guys. This was going to be SUCH a fun time. Assuming people came. And Jessica, standing by the punch in yet another very pretty pink dress (where did she get all of these on such short notice?), was assuming just that. She was a very positive person.

[OOC: Party. Party. Party. Jessica put up posters yesterday, so all students are invited.]

genesishero

It wasn't that Evan was big on shirking his responsibilities, but this week he was seriously not feeling up to going into work. With Thanksgiving in a couple of days, 'service with a smile' or even being in remotely the right mindset to be helpful to customers was the last thing he could manage, and so he'd ~~handwavily~~ left his boss an apologetic message saying that he couldn't come in today, and he'd spent most of his morning in bed, staring up at the ceiling, thinking and trying to get the heavy weighted feeling out of his chest.

Of course, being a dog owner, it wasn't like he could hide in bed forever. It was a couple of hours into his 'stay in bed all day' escapade that Ozzy decided that it wasn't just time for walkies, it was time to leap up onto the bed to inform Evan of the fact that it was time for walkies by licking his face into submission until his boy relented and finally rolled out to pull on his clothes. And once Ozzy had been taken for a walk, it just seemed like a terrible waste of the day to crawl back under the covers. A tempting waste of a day, but still a terrible one. So, Evan grabbed a book and an umbrella, and he made his way up to the roof. It was cold and a little wet out, but that wasn't a bad thing, necessarily. It was difficult to mope when you were trying to keep your book dry.

... There were worse ways to cope with a case of holiday blahs than reading outside in the rain in November, right? Yeah. Yeah, there had to be.

[Open roof! This kid, sometimes. Honestly.]

arsenicmauls

After talking all through class, Gert was pretty exhausted, so she returned to the dorms, trekked up to the common room and flopped on the couch, only remembering after several moments had gone by that she actually needed to fumble for the remote in order to get the TV to play anything.

Eventually she settled on a weird, weird animated movie about a bunch of ranch horses that had gotten fed up with their owners riding them around all the time and took off for the wilderness instead to found their own republican government. It was oddly compelling. Probably at least in part because Gert had been really into horses as a child, but no one else needed to know that embarrassing fact, thanks.

toomuchmoop.livejournal.com

One things that definitely held over well into the future was that Saturdays were for being lazy and doing absolutely nothing, but, eventually, especially for teenage boys, the stomach got a little hungry and food had to be procured. So Danny got up, had a nice shower that involved a sim of being a giant radioactive monster stomping on some village...abandoned, of course, only wholesale destruction with no holographic persons harmed, then headed into town to collect what he needed to come back to the dorm room and fix up a feast truly fit for a Saturday. Danny was no cook, by any measure, but there was one thing he would always know how to make.

"Awww, yeaaaaah! Soft tacos!"

Loading up a plate and leaving plenty around that he might make a bot to clean up for him later, he went to crash on the couch and find out what sort of things people watched on Saturday afternoons in the twenty-first century.

He would soon discover that stupid Saturday television was also a thing that had not changed with the millenia, either.

[[ I HAVE A SATURDAY OFF. This is historical, guys. Open common room is open. Soft tacos for everyone! ]]

ultron_junior

Victor was getting the impression not all was right on the island, and that was making him nervous. Which meant it was time to go zap shit until he felt like everything was under control.

He set up some targets and a pile of fencing foils, then used his powers to aim the foils at the dummies. After a while, the dummies were well-perforated and Victor was feeling good enough to show off. Maybe he could get the foils to flip in midair...

[OOC: Open salle!]

nottrivial

Alec wasn't really a huge common room person, but... well. There was a documentary about werewolves on. And as it turned out, Alec didn't really have it in him to get up and walk away when he saw wrong information being distributed. On the contrary, he felt it was his personal duty to sit there with his sandwich lying forgotten on his plate as he stared at the TV and pronounced, "Wrong. Wrong. That's wrong."

It was, in case you did not know, wrong.

So it looked like Alec was going to be too stubborn to get off the couch tonight. Because wrong.

ultron_junior

Victor had planned to stay on his sleeping mat today and read, but he gave up on that idea the third time he accidentally put too much weight on one elbow, rolled off to the left, and watched his book bounce to the right. Living in a moonbounce sounded like a lot more fun until you tried to do it, he reflected after he chased down the book and crawled out into the sun.

Once he was outside the tent, Victor plopped himself on a rock and stared into the firepit with the book balanced on one knee. He was trying to decide whether it was too early (and he was too lazy) to start a fire or whether tracking down a bunch of firewood and lighting it up was his duty as a camper.

[OOC: Open campgrounds post.]

suitably_heroic

Not everybody had just come home after the strip club last night. Atton figured he could stick around for another round and then see if maybe he could, ahem, talk to somebody.

It had all gotten out of hand from that point on; it would take a fifteen-episode TV series to fully document the series of events that Atton Rand lived through that Wednesday night. The details weren't important anyway - what was important was that Atton now had a lot of jugs of drinks (alcoholic and otherwise) that he couldn't sneak into a fridge (they'd be discovered), he couldn't drink (he'd get alcohol and/or sugar poisoning) and he couldn't sell on or off the island because then the people he'd stolen the drinks from would find him and--

Yeah, you didn't want to know.

So he'd come up with a plan. He'd keep the drinks cool on the booze until he came up with a plan.

After about an hour he figured out why that wouldn't work.

Now he'd dragged about half of it downstairs (before giving up on that), having labeled all the non-alcoholic drinks accordingly (with labels reading 'JUICE' or 'SPARKLY WATER STUFF'. Not non-alcoholic. What, unlike some people, he didn't want detention) and stamped a few post-its reading 'DRINK' on the good stuff.

Then he sent out a couple of texts at random.

It was Fandom. Someone would show up.

[[ partaaay! ocd up! ]]

craftyladyparts.livejournal.com

The sixth floor common room was all done up for a party. Really all that meant was that there was pizza, chips, and drinks (including some that seemed to be mysteriously unlabeled for anyone who might want to drink something that IS TOTALLY FINE AND YOU CAN'T PROVE OTHERWISE in the dorms). There was also a small American flag over by the TV to indicate that what this weekend was really about wasn't completely forgotten, especially considering Jessica's recent military experiences.

But those experiences were even more reason for her to relax, play some music on the radio, and hope that nobody stabbed anybody this time.

[OOC: This is the party with the I Never game that leads to Not-So-Final Destination Week. If you'd like to participate in that, please at least establish yourself in the game and maybe throw out some prompts!

Everyone in the dorms is invited via fliers from earlier this week.]

tigerundercover

Raven was, once again, technically lounging around the dorms naked, though to anyone looking, she seemed to be wearing a cute Esther Williams styled one piece in an usual, textured shade of dark blue. The day had turned out to be sunny and pleasantly hot, and she was taking full advantage of the chance to get in some sunbathing, warnings of the importance of sunblock having gone right past her fifties-minded love of a good tan. She had a tall glass of iced tea on the table beside her, and a mint new (and though she didn't realize it, first edition) copy of Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison open in her lap, though she wasn't really reading it, just now. She was focused instead on the grounds out past the edge of the deck, watching the shadows of the leaves play across the grass.

The only way this would be better, she decided, other than not being signed up for classes that required her to splash around in the mud, would be if Charles were around, too. She missed having him around to tease, and it would be so good to have someone she could actually look like herself around without having to worry about him reacting badly to it. Well, violently. Charles wasn't exactly a fan of her blue shape, but at least he never ran screaming from it.

Raven sighed, putting on a pair of sunglasses -- she could mimic them, sure, but not well enough to actually shield her eyes -- and tilting her face further into the sun. Maybe she'd show Anya sometime. She had at least already heard of mutants.

[ooc: introspective yet open deck!]

arsenicmauls

Fact the first: Gert had gone out this afternoon in search of one (1) sandwich.

Fact the second: Someone (a bartender? Gert hadn't caught his (her?) name, but he (she?) had hair tucked into a baseball cap and seemed very drunk) had been racing around a town with two garbage bags that held a combined two hundred bagels.

Fact the third: Evidently running away from a pursuer, who Gert assumed was the owner of the bagel store, Baseball Cap had thrust one of the bags at Gert and yelled at her to take it and run.

And so it was that a baffled Gert hauled a massive bag of about a hundred bagels up the stairs through town and up to the second floor common room, at which point she proceeded to dump the bag on the counter and collapse on the couch with a cinnamon raisin bagel with cream cheese.

What. The hell.

[[open. i don't know. if you care, it was totally april.]]

dollpocalypse

It was possible that the TV thought it was funny. It was also possible that the TV didn't think at all, which was, in Topher's opinion, the more likely option.

In either case, tonight all it seemed willing to show was the critically-reviled horror trilogy My GF's A Zombie. The first movie was pretty much exactly what it sounded like, but its sequels, My Psycho Ex Is A Zombie and Is Zombie Marriage Even Legal? were... well, also exactly what they sounded like.

The first movie was playing while Topher got up to get some popcorn, providing the microwave noises with a lovely soundtrack consisting of the titular zombie girlfriend pleading with her boyfriend to take her to prom. Topher just... didn't even know.

He'd actually made no effort to turn it off or change the channel, but whether that was because he was too used to the TV not cooperating or because he actually enjoyed the movie was anybody's guess, really.

ultron_junior

The food channel was already on when Victor made it to the common room. He was thinking vaguely about the classes he had the next day, though he kept getting distracted wondering if his download of the latest season of Perambulating Corpses was complete yet.

But once he really looked at the TV, he realized it contained a greater horror than zombies. A large man with bleached blond hair was expressing manic appreciation of a deep-fried cheddar curd sandwich topped with gravy and served with a side of sauerkraut.

Apparently, the mess was a breakfast food in ... some corner of America Victor didn't want to go to. He'd eat a lot of things, but he drew the line at that much gravy before 10 a.m.

But he couldn't change the channel. The hyper dude had promised to show him something called chocolate cheesecake waffles next, and he needed to find out what that was.

[OOC: Open common room with Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives playing.]

mummyspromdate.livejournal.com

Was it bad that this place didn't take as much getting used to as expected? Sure, day one was filled with a lot of information and surprise and everything. Maddie was rooming with a girl with time traveling parents and a dinosaur, she'd gotten the rundown on the possibility of turning into a boy from a talking pink pony who held mirrors, there was a girl from an alternate universe of where she came from and also at least two Avengers hanging around, one of which was supposed to be dead in Maddie's time. When she went to bed last night, she wasn't sure she was going to be sticking around.

And then this morning she woke up, remembered that she'd been a superhero-in-training two days ago who was going to be a walking ghost in like ten years, and she realized she wasn't really in a different situation than she was before. Well, here they weren't going to ask her to save the world at all, which was exactly the thing she'd been trying to get away from anyway.

Since her side of the room still looked too depressingly empty to want to hide out in there, Maddie ventured out into the common room to check it out. Where "check it out" meant "find a seat on the sofa and make sure they had cable."

[Open CR!]

ultron_junior

There'd been a ~~handwavy~~ email sent to the student body inviting them to games night, but Victor realized as he set out notepads and dice and stacked the manuals neatly by the chair he planned to sit on that he might be in over his head. He'd played tabletop RPGs a couple times, sure, but run a game?

Well. Fandom was all about new experiences, and the Lightning Bug premise seemed like an easy hook. He leaned back to study the manual one more time and waited to see who would show up.

[OOC: Open game!]

stars_and_money

Jeremy was just intending to have a nice night in. He'd ordered pizza (more than one – there was plenty to share), he was wearing comfy (yet still ridiculously expensive) clothes, and he was all ready to spend his evening in the common room, watching something nice and maybe even holiday themed on the TV, and chatting with his fellow students should they be drawn in by the totally amazing smell of pizza.

But then he flopped down on the couch and turned the TV on. And found that there was nothing but cycling on. On any channel. Granted, this time around it was at least a bit different on each channel: old races, new races, people just leisurely biking to places, and the odd bit of bicycle maintenance advice. But that didn't really help Jeremy who was frowning at the TV and clicking through channels like maybe one of them actually offered something he'd want to watch.

But no.

"Aw, come on! Really? Again?"

Did the TV really hate him or something?

[ocd up, have at!]

craftyladyparts.livejournal.com

Jessica didn't believe in karma. It would be hard to if you were her. She had a crazy life and a crazy past and it didn't really even out neatly like you would expect from a karmic universe.

And yet, something seemed to be making up for the bug thing yesterday. When she walked into the common room, there was ice cream. Plenty to go around, just sitting there suspiciously. Jessica stared at it intently for a minute, then grabbed a spoon and essentially played chicken with some ice cream heading toward her mouth.

At no point did her spider-sense go off. But her spider-metabolism did and it just wanted some damn food.

Fortunately, the ice cream was both untainted and tasty. Maybe there was karma. Or maybe Fandom was just weird.

[OOC: Open common room and moddable ice cream flavors.]

dirtiest-skank.livejournal.com

Eighteen wasn't so different from seventeen thus far, except for the fact that it was kind of a big day to be turning eighteen. Olive had gone out and done her civic duty earlier that day, and somehow the rite of casting her very first vote hadn't been all that exciting. Maybe she was too cynical, or maybe she was too ADHD in general. Either way, she'd spent most of her time in line, texting, before finally, painstakingly filling out her ballot.

She was now in the common room, as she'd emailed she would be, with a festive birthday hat cocked to one side on her head. She'd put on NBC -- though at eleven she'd change it to Comedy Central, because Jon Stewart was both more palatable and kind of hot -- and was vaguely watching the screen in between texting with Rhiannon (who was waiting in her own voting line -- god help them all.)

There was a stack of pizzas as well as some ~~moddable~~ snacks and drinks, and Olive was fine with going ahead and terming this a 'party.' As long as no one brought a case of beer again, Sparkle. And...Cade. And Atton. (It was hard to be narratively accusing when there were so many guilty parties last time.)

[party is open to alllllll.]

ultron_junior

Victor had skipped the weekend trip to space, since he'd gotten the general impression that the world involved wasn't a great one to be an android in. Which was fine, he understood the prejudice didn't come from nowhere -- it just had him feeling left out to see the building a little quieter than usual this weekend.

But the fact every channel on the common room TV was showing something space-related? That was just the island mocking him. He flipped from a documentary about the International Space Station to a Z-Cases rerun to a Space Battles movie marathon, finally settling on Things-to-Come-Opolis. At least with that, he could laugh while he sulked.

He'd claimed some chips from the kitchen and was willing to share, if anybody else was around.

dirtiest-skank.livejournal.com

Olive had come back from the carnival and wasn't tired at all. In case you were wondering. But what she was in the mood for? A fort.

It only took a little bit of work -- she pulled the blanket off the really, really big bed she'd woken up in (she told her parents she was ready for a big-big kid bed!) and set to work in the common room, shoving chairs around to drape the blanket over.

Mid-construction, she shoved her cereal from earlier inside the fort. She'd need snacks when she was all done with her fort, obviously. She'd also brought out her puppy (PUPPY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) from her room, and Ally was watching the process intently, occasionally swatting down the blanket so Olive had to start over. She was helping.

[open for fort construction or if you'd like to come enjoy it!]

dirtiest-skank.livejournal.com

So. She was really, obviously,stupid to think that things would be different here, right? Like...she could just have friends here, and be happy, and oh, god, last week she'd had a party and people had come and no one had made fun of her or paid her at all, and she had a homecoming date, and --

Well. Probably not, anymore. Olive was back to feeling just as ostracized as she had back in Ojai. And it wasn't even that she was embarrassed about what she'd done -- that was a little bit of it, sure. But the reason she was up here on the roof, crying, her knees tucked up to her chest -- and crap, now the cliches were following her, too -- was that she'd gotten used to things just being...normal here. And now the whole thing had followed her after all, and there was a common room of people she actually cared about laughing at her all trussed up in lingerie, who all knew about all of the lying.

So, yeah. Cliche or not, she would just sit here and feel sorry for herself, and then run back down to her room and pack her things before Karolina could notice she was gone. Or something. That didn't seem like the most intelligent course of action, but she couldn't think clearly at the moment.

[totally open, obviously.]

dollpocalypse

Well, around five on Thursday evening, Topher learned that Portalocity officially sucked harder than he had ever suspected, because they'd somehow managed to jostle his luggage on his return trip from Africa badly enough that his laptop screen was cracked.

He had other laptops, yeah, but this one was the fastest, so until he could replace it tomorrow, he grabbed an HDMI cable, hooked it up to display on the TV, and checked his email there. And then some forums. And then his Facebook and some tracked tags on Tumblr and... look, he had a lot of stuff going on, okay? He doubted anyone was going to say anything.

After a while, he began wondering whether there was anything else he was supposed to do tonight. There was some work for Peter he still had to do, of course, but that kind of thing probably merited more privacy than a common room TV screen. There was... oh, right, wasn't he supposed to talk to that Tomato girl?

Not Tomato. Another vegetable. Or maybe plant. Was Venus Fly Trap a name? No, wait, she wasn't a superhero, that didn't sound right.

But Topher was comfortable, and he didn't want to talk to Lettuce when he could just hang out on the couch here. Internet-stalking her was almost the same thing, right? Sure, it took a little more effort since he had to actually check the school database for a list of names first in order to find out what her actual name was (and Topher personally thought Tomato would've been a better choice, but hey, that was Olive's parents' fault), but before long he had a few searches going.

Hmm. There was a surprising amount of dirt on this girl, Topher had to say. Including something called freeolive.com, which brought him to a video.

"I really hope this isn't a creepy valkyrie thing," he said aloud, eyeing it dubiously before hitting play.

[[this common room brought to you by request of

dirtiest_skank, of course. please beware spoilers for easy a within, but it is open!]]

nottrivial

Alec was counting himself lucky that unlike other people, he wasn't actually dreading the arrival of his family member tomorrow. He missed his sister and it was going to be nice to see her, even if it was just for a weekend. He was... less sure about how Izzy was going to react to certain people on the island, like a certain person whose name rhymed with 'cattily,' but whether that wound up being a good thing or a bad thing remained to be seen.

For right now, he was taking a few hours to appreciate the quiet before all the guests showed up tomorrow, because he had a feeling he wouldn't be able to do much sitting-on-the-roof-doing-nothing once Isabelle was here and inevitably wanted tours. (He might have been exaggerating her interest in the workings of the island there. In fact, he probably was.) In the meantime, there was an Alec, a rooftop, and a weird coffee drink that tasted like pumpkin and was actually kind of amazing. Nothing too strange going on up here.

Okay, that was kind of weird. But anyway.

[[open roof!]]

makemyownway.livejournal.com

Cade was being followed around by a karking animal today. A talking karking animal called a hy-eeda or something.

"STOP EATING THE COCOA PUFFS."

...that apparently shared Cade's taste in breakfast cereal.

"Kark me," Cade groused, flopping onto a sofa.

Current Mood: annoyed

dirtiest-skank.livejournal.com

Olive wasn't even feeling especially social or creative. But ever since her class that morning, she'd wanted cookies. And no, she was so not like, a gourmet cook at all, but she could buy refrigerated cookie dough with the best of them.

Shhh. She threw the packaging away and tossed the raw dough into a bowl so no one would know. She was sneaky. There was a batch of cooling chocolate-chip cookies resting on the counter already as she stared at the oven like it might produce state secrets or something. She'd turned on the television, for those who might not be super-into watching cookie dough rise, but she wasn't especially paying attention.

And no, she was not making these cookies for anyone but herself, regardless what certain parties might try to argue. But she'd share, probably. Unless you were obnoxious.

[open, la.]

dirtiest-skank.livejournal.com

When Olive had woken to the shrieks of her classmates and seen unfamiliar young ladies in the halls, she'd put it together with the information she'd been given about people changing genders, and she laaaaaaughed. Oh, initially, how she'd laughed.

But eventually, the laughter had given way to her natural instinct to help, along with her resourcefulness. So Saturday morning found her in the common room vaguely making pancakes (she'd gotten a batch down) and, more important, with a box of her (many, many) clothes and a sign set up beside it. Yes, she had included some of her items from the whole...thing. No, she had not included any bustiers. Or bras. You were on your own there, boys. But there was quite a collection of tank tops and cardigans and leggings and skinny jeans, at least. (And a Juicy sweatshirt that probably should go to someone with bigger boobs than her own. She'd been told this.)

TAKE SOMETHING. BECAUSE NONE OF YOU KNOW HOW TO DRESS WITH BOOBS, AND YOU MIGHT STILL WAKE UP LIKE THIS TOMORROW

In smaller letters, she'd added:

Ladies, feel free to donate to the cause. Write your name on the tag and I'll make sure it gets returned to you.

There was a sharpie beside the box for such a purpose -- and an "OP" on each of Olive's tags -- and she'd brought her sewing kit down for modifications, should they be needed.

And of course, in her pocket, she had a camera, too. She was kind, but she wasn't stupid.

[open CR is open, for all your "oh god i need clothes" needs, and/or if you are a kind person who'd like to donate. or if you just want pancakes to go with your breasts!]

dirtiest-skank.livejournal.com

Olive had woken today to discover that, tragically, she did not still taste of oranges. She did move past this -- she'd kind of hoped it was a permanent change because hi, oranges tasted nice and Olive occasionally had a slightly dirty mind -- and had gone to class and everything.

But then a whole new tragedy had occurred.

She was parked in front of the television with a bottle of nail polish and bared feet, fully prepared to have an evening of politics and pedicures. But every time she tried to watch the DNC -- she really, really wanted one of the celebrities coming tonight to yell at a chair, shut up -- it was in Spanish. On CNN, on NBC -- all the news channels were, inexplicably, only broadcasting the convention en español.

And so Olive, nail polish forgotten, was trying to parse together what she could, based upon three years of public school Spanish. "Barack Obama has a...help for the February?"

Olive had never been gifted at foreign language, no.

[totes open, and bless you,

craftyladyparts, for the prompt.]

suitably_heroic

It was raining.

It was not raining very hard, but it was definitely raining at the insane time the sirens went off across the school. The lawn outside was slowly but surely turning into a wet mess, and the grass was just high enough in some places that it might leave wet splotches on an unsuspecting passer-by's pants.

Clearly this was a great time for a fire drill.

It was clearly also a great time to test the new volume on the sirens, which blared even harder than they had ever done before. Hope you didn't have to take any tests in the morning, kids!

[[ has a firedrill! students, have at. ]]

nottrivial

Well. Two months here and Alec had officially decided: mundie TV programs were alarming.

If it wasn't the reality show with the orange people, it was reruns of the teenybopper program about the girl with the double life, and if it wasn't that, it was Adolescent Mummy, which was... just wrong. Just so many levels of wrong.

Reruns of that were on right now, and Alec sighed and ate his Thai food, counting down the hours until he could go back into the salle and have it be reasonably acceptable again without having creepily spent the entire day there.

It would be at least another two. Three, maybe. Sigh.

fewer_explosions

Liara was not a terribly big fan of crowded, open spaces, but it was a lovely day out, and the dorm lawn saw a lot of traffic but not a great deal of humans hanging around for any significant amount of time.

She had finally gotten around to trading in some of her credits for local human money (though she had no idea how the bank had found any kind of exchange rate worth mentioning) which she had used to purchase some clothes - she couldn't go around wearing the same clothes all the time. It simply wasn't practical.

Not to say that human fashion seemed entirely practical, but she quite liked the dress, even if it came up far shorter than she was used to. She tugged on the skirt periodically as she sat on a chair on the deck, a book on human archaeology in her lap.

[[ open! ]]

nonelikemesince.livejournal.com

Sure, Anakin had to go to class later. But he needed food, first, and a very large bowl of cereal in the common room appeared to be the solution to that this morning. He wasn't in the mood for quiet, so he turned the TV on and found a soccer game on. Earth sports were weird, but with weird similarities to the ones he knew from home, and apparently there were a lot of them on TV lately. He didn't mind; he wasn't particularly into them, but he didn't mind either. (He had his doubts about the red-and-white striped jerseys one of the teams was wearing, though.)

He was perfectly prepared to just have the game on as background noise while he ate until he caught sight of one of the players, standing in front of a giant net wearing padded gloves, as a graphic reading "Hope Solo" flashed up on the screen.

"Um."

She totally looked like she could be related to him, and needless to say Anakin would be paying attention for the rest of the match.

[OOC: Making Star Wars references to soccer games in game is pretty much a tradition for me. Shut up. And open.]

dollpocalypse

So for the second year in forever, Topher... was not making it to Comic-Con. Which was traumatizing. Seriously, what was the point of being from L.A. if he didn't get to do his annual four-day trek to San Diego with a tent for camping out for panels, a backpack of inappropriate starches, and absolutely zero qualms about annoying people in front of him to the point that they left the line? Really now.

However. Despite that devastating setback sure to have long-lasting emotional ramifications on his psyche and nerd cred, he was able to tough it out to some degree thanks to the joy of technology. Like his laptop, which was open in front of him with about a zillion tabs open to various panel live feeds. And of course there was Tumblr, which never failed to catch all the really good quotes. Usually in GIF form.

Tumblr was the best.

So. With a few pizzas left out on the table to fill in for his usual high-cal SDCC snacks (and seriously, what was with the pizza place and delivering way more than he ordered? Not that Topher was complaining or anything), Operation: Make Like It's Comic-Con was underway.

Well. Comic-Con probably didn't permit wolf puppies like the one Topher had with him. But this was really really close.

[[open! PLEASE entertain me, i beg you.]]

ultron_junior

Victor -- like the good geek he was -- had spent most of the last several days working his way up the leaderboard in Game of Nerds.

He wasn't doing as well as he wanted to. There weren't enough questions about superheroes. Finally he gave up and went into the common room, where he popped a frozen pizza in the oven to share with anybody who wanted it before turning on the TV to find ... telenovelas.

Lots and lots and lots of telenovelas, on every channel except the one that was showing a Korean soap opera for the sake of variety.

He made the mistake of letting himself get sucked into one, so until he got distracted he'd be offering romantic advice to the characters. Sure, his own love life was a royal mess, but at least he wasn't having inappropriate sexual tension with his adopted sister.

[OOC: Open common room.]

iwishiwasbig.livejournal.com

For the life of him, Dave couldn't find where his tent was supposed to be. He spent a while looking and for the life of him, he just couldn't find it. Eventually Dave had to give up and made his way to the main campfire, figuring that maybe somebody could point him in the direction of Nonexis Te...

Oh. He just got the irony.

Well, whether they worked as payment for somebody who could point him toward his tent or to help him deal with the thought that his tent might be a cruel joke at his expense, Dave had the basic materials for S'mores. And dammit, he was making some.

[OOC: I promised

rilla_myrilla I'd post something like this when the tents were announced. Because of course I did. Campfire is open!

And as far as I know, Nonexis Tent does exist. Dave just can't find it.]

godgavemecable.livejournal.com

So. Today was Toby's sixteenth birthday. He'd decided against holding an actual party or anything in favour of just hanging out in the common room with some pizza and cake.

And the Titanium Dude movies, which he'd been meaning to check out ever since going to the movies with Kenzi last month.

[ooc: Yes, I know Titanium Man is a Marvel villain, but dude, there are only so many cool-sounding metals out there, so Titanium Dude it is. Food is moddable, CR is open!]

wasthecuteone

Petra had come to the common room to watch TV while she did her nails, but she hadn't gotten quite as far as the 'doing her nails' part yet. This was because, while channel surfing for something to watch while doing her nails, she'd encountered a flashback. At first she just sort of stared at the TV screen, stunned to realize they still had boy bands in this dimension--she'd kind of thought they'd worn out their welcome years ago, and had frankly found that a relief--and momentarily insulted that the song implied that the only reason someone would wear makeup was "to cover up." Hello, maybe the fictional girl in the song just liked makeup. But then one of these babyfaced teenagers with hair that looked like a bunch of seagulls had attacked it earnestly sang that to prove he was right, he put it in a song, and the idea that being in a song made something right struck her as so funny the whole thing hit her at once, and she wound up laughing so hard tears ran down her face and she fell off the couch.

Okay. This wasn't exactly a flashback, although the terribleness of that hair was pretty familiar. There was the fact that, "You don't even dance!" as Petra hauled herself up via the coffee table to shout at the screen before collapsing with the giggles once again.

So, yes. Anyone entering the fifth floor common room, or simply passing by, would find a British boy band singing on the TV and Petra West laughing herself sick. Business as usual?

((I had to. Open common room is open. Come mock One Direction with Petra! Or defend them. Whatever floats your character's boat.))

Fandom High RPG

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