Azure Bubbles — Roleplayer Guild

Zach’s room looked like a hurricane had swept through it. Jackets tossed over chairs, sparkly pants draped over lampshades, shirts with too many buttons flung across the bed. He held up a satin blazer trimmed in silver thread and frowned. “Too stage magician.” He tossed it aside and turned back to the mirror, towel slung on his hips, hair damp from the shower.

“Okay, think: spoiled, rich, completely detached from reality but still hot. What would an unhinged trust baby wear to a villain gala?”

And then, like divine inspiration, or maybe just a memory of something he wore once to annoy Constantine…Zach pulled out a black, tailored coatdress with black fur around the neckline and a long, ruffled train. The fabric shimmered faintly under the light. It was dramatic. It was couture. It said I have a black card, unresolved childhood trauma, and an ego the size of a small country…”

He paired it with a purple cravat, with a violet gemstone brooch at the collar, black dress pants, and black heeled boots polished to a mirror shine, and eyeliner applied with precision. He looked at himself in the mirror, and flipped his hair. “Perfect.”

—-

The Zeta Tube transport was a blur. He was too busy imagining what shenanigans he’d be getting up to at the gala to register most of it. 

He heard what Origami had to say, and raised an eyebrow. “Well, darling, they ran out of boy scouts and wet blankets,” he said breezily. “So now you’ve got me. I’m fabulous. I shine under pressure.” He paused, He gave her a once-over and flashed a sweet, borderline-mocking smile. “And you must be Origami. Love the look, by the way. It’s giving… Where In The World is Carmen Sandiego.” He tilted his head slightly. “I do hope you bring more to the table than party favors and paper cuts.”

Sky stopped short when he saw the message. For once, he didn’t speak immediately. The bright red letters were impossible to ignore. Big. Messy. Violent. Loud, and not in the cute way… His stomach dropped for half a second before instinct kicked in. He crossed his arms, tilting his head as if he were judging bad street art instead of a death threat.

He scoffed, folding his arms. “Wow. Bold choice. Very horror movie. Love the commitment, hate the execution.” He tilted his head, squinting at the wall like a judge on a talent show. “If you’re going to threaten an entire group of people, at least use a better font.”

Then he glanced back at the group, “We literally survived getting struck by lightning yesterday. “I refuse to be taken out by someone with bad handwriting. Whatever this is? We handle it.

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