What a Dork (Stephen/Open)

[Camila Reyes]

As soon as she had seen the dress at the mall, she had decided it was perfect. It was brightly colored, a decent length, and fit her quite well. Plus, it was a Captain America dress! Superheroes were all the rage, right? Well, okay, maybe that was not what she was necessarily interested in. Blue was her favorite color, after all, and she had not worn a dress in a while. Another incentive to buy it was the fact that it was on sale. For a student such as herself, sales were a wonderful thing. After trying it on just to make sure it fit, she brought it up to the counter triumphantly and bought it without hesitation. The prefect that had accompanied her had looked at her oddly, most likely because of the anomaly before him. A very happy- looking young lady had strolled out of a rather dark-looking store. She did not really care though, because the ideas were already swirling around in her head. She would probably do everything she did for the Valentine’s Dance, sans the makeup. Getting that stuff off was just a pain.

The next night was the dance, and boy, was she glad she had found something in time. She was sure that the ferry going over was going to be crowded with people, scrambling around for last minute costumes. The administration had announced the dance at the beginning of the school day, giving people little time to scrape together things. She had heard people talking about making masks out of paper and cardboard, but she was a little more creative than that. She stood on her toes to look in the closet that she and Carter shared. She pulled out a ratty shoebox and dug around in it, looking for something in particular. Her hand hit something hard and she smiled, pulling it out. She slipped the black band around the back of her head and looked in the mirror. The red petals of the fake flower on the side were still intact, even though they were a little bent. The red and black glitter had faded some, but it was still attached to the white plastic. It was almost like a metaphor for her life. Things had gotten to her, but she was still alive. In spite of everything, she was surviving and she thought it was high time to celebrate the life that she still had. With that in mind, she pulled on her black canvas shoes over the black and white socks she wore and left the room, not bothering to call out to Carter, since she was clearly not there.

As soon as she walked through the gym doors, she let all her inhibitions go and ran straight through the crowd, giggling like a lunatic. This was mostly due to the resolve she had built for herself while she was curling her hair, and maybe a little bit was due to the shot she had taken before she came to the dance. She was planning to avoid the prefects for the beginning of the night, that way they could not smell the rum on her breath. She was hoping that no one would recognize her, or the fact that she was wearing a sugar skull masquerade mask with a Captain America dress. She stopped her running and slid across the gym floor, gaining a few glaring looks from people who were standing around gossiping. The squeak of her sneakers against the floor was grating to her ears, but she did not mind it. She was having way too much fun to bother with other people’s opinions. She sailed over to the snack table, grabbing a cookie and putting it between her teeth before running and sliding across the floor again. She nearly ran into someone, but she was able to stop herself in time. She held out her right hand in front of her, letting out a muffled cackle before trying to speak with a mouthful of cookie.

“Hwat- Ahem, excuse me.”

Camila took the cookie out of her mouth and nibbled on it for a few seconds, until it was gone. After a moment, she positioned herself in a defensive stance and held up her left arm, which had a small shield attached to it. She then put out her right arm again and started to repeat what she had said before. She knew she was acting like a complete and utter dork, but she did not care. She deserved to be happy for once in her life.

"Halt, evildoer! I have been summoned here to stop your dastardly plans. Surrender immediately, for I do not wish to duel in such a public place!”

Outfit

[Mutsumi Kanazaki]

Finally the big day had arrived, for Mutsumi to dress up as her favorite character. For her beautiful face to be blocked though was going to be a problem. While getting dressed She put on her Valentine Costume and went into her dorm bathroom with a bottle of blue hair dye. Everything looked good so far. She died her hair and tied it to match the actual character's hair. Mutsumi's hair was longer however so she'd look like Valentine only with longer hair. Mutsumi had ordered this costume onsale as soon as it came out and that day it sold out. Boy was Mutsumi happy to get it. Walking to the sinks mirror she put the contacts into her eye's and blinked. Staring in the mirror it was now done. Her eye's looked as if she had Crosses inside of them.

"Perfect!"

With that said she strutted through the hallway in her full getup. Many people ooh'd and ahh'd, or asked for a picture. The answer would be "yes" obviously. She loved it when people admired her work. Posing for pictures she emulated Valentine to her best ability with her famous catch phrase "Ready for your Shots?" or "Ready to Operate!" No making her way to the auditorium she put on her eye mask and joined the crowd of people in costume. Then the sound of sneaker screeching along the gymnasium floor. It was some girl running around as a female Captain America. Compared to Mutsumi it didn't look at all like Camila had put 100% into her costume. However she did have his spirit which made up for it. She danced and mingled with the crowd as the Masquerade began.

"I wonder if i'll meet anyone that I recognize?"

Mutsumi's Costume and Pose 1
Mutsumi's Pose 2

[Stephen Paulinski]

     A Halloween dance. As if that would suddenly take everything bad away. The administration at Ashford had announced the dance, with such a fake smile, that Stephen felt like puking. They acted as if they were being benevolent towards the students. They acted as if this little, meaningless gesture would erase the hell the students had been through while in this school, that it would make up for all of the time he had spent on this God-forsaken island in the middle of the ocean. They gave the students one, small opportunity to have “fun”, and now everything would go back to normal, right? Everything would be fine and dandy, right?

     Fat. Fucking. Chance.

     They want to make it up to the students? They should lay down and die. Every. Last. One of them. They think that this dance is such a good idea? They think that this will make everything right?! They think that this is a peace offering? Well, it isn’t, and it never will be. And Stephen was going to make sure that the administration knew it, under no uncertain terms.

     He was going to burn this “peace offering” to the ground.

     He had it all planned out. It would be simple; he was a fire manipulator, after all. It would just take one stray flame hitting a decoration, and then, then next thing you knew, the whole thing would burn up. Of course, he would make sure that everyone could get out, in time. He didn’t want to hurt any of the students, nor the administration, as a matter of fact. All he wanted to do was send a message that clearly said: We’re not taking your bullshit, anymore.

     The dance was a masquerade ball, perfect for Stephen’s scheme. Not only would he send his message, he would be able to do so behind a cloak of anonymity. He had the perfect disguise, too: a Guy Fawkes mask. Stephen, being the comic book aficionado he was, had a copy of Alan Moore’s V for Vendetta. Stephen, however, had a special edition of the graphic novel. It was a box set that came with V’s Guy Fawkes mask. Stephen slipped it out of the packaging it came in, and turned it over in his hands, observing the design.

     It was of a face, waxen and white like a ghost. The pink blush on its cheeks seemed put on last minute, as if the creator couldn’t decide whether the face should be of someone dead, or living. Stephen ran his fingers across the pointed mustache, then down the lips that were forever set in an eerie smile. Stephen began to think of the character that wore this facade in the graphic novel. In a way, Stephen was like V: he was wronged and was seeking vengeance, by destroying what his aggressors had created. Stephen shook his head when he thought of how the story ended for poor V. Sure, in the end, he had achieved victory in a fiery explosion, but at what cost? Stephen began to feel fear run through his veins like an icy liquid. He did not want to die over this; he just wanted to send a message. Would it just be a message, though, or would Stephen end up meeting the same fate as V did? This horrid thought rattled around in Stephen’s brain until another wearer of the Guy Fawkes mask entered into his mind. This wearer was not one person, rather an organization. An army. A legion. Anonymous.

     Anonymous was a group full of people who hid behind masks, and performed radical actions in the name of freedom. If Stephen could find the courage to fight back against the establishment, he was sure that others would be able to steal themselves behind their masks, and join the fight with him. Stephen would not be alone. With his mask, he would become the leader of a new Anonymous. Others in their masked forms would join his crusade, his legion. Stephen smirked at the thought. Yes, a legion would form, a legion, who is many.

     Stephen was not about to spend any money for clothes towards this dance. Not only was it because he planned on ending it, prematurely, but also because his first dance experience at Ashford hadn’t exactly been the storybook example of a perfect high school dance. Not only had he not gotten the girl, but he had also made himself look like a fool in front of the girl. Quite frankly, Stephen was surprised that Camila still talked to him, much less regarded him as a friend. Or, was he just a friend to her? His mind drifted back to the time in the hallway when she had leaned against him. Sure, she was probably just tired, just like she had said, but did girls just lean up against old guy friends? Maybe she was trying to send him a message. Maybe she…

     Stephen shook his head quickly, and expelled the thought from his brain. Tonight would not be about his stupid hormones. Tonight was about something bigger: rebellion. Remember, remember, the fifth of November. Gunpowder, treason, and plot. The beginning words of Guy Fawkes’s famous poem ran through Stephen’s head, and a small smile ran across his lips. Sure, it was not the fifth of November, and he certainly hoped there wouldn’t be any gunpowder at the dance- he wanted it to burn, not explode- but two words of the phrase stuck in his mind: treason and plot. For all intents and purposes, Stephen was plotting to commit something akin to treason. Sure, he was not trying to eliminate a head of state, or something, but he was sure that, if he was caught, he would be executed like a man who was found guilty of treason. So, the goal would be to not get caught. Simple enough, right?

     Stephen stopped his daydreaming, and turned his attention to what he would wear, tonight. Like previously stated, Stephen would not buy anything new to this dance, nor would he ask to borrow anything from his roommate Sergei, as his Romanian friend made the average-heighted Pollack look like a dwarf. Stephen wanted something dance appropriate, so he would not look suspicious, but he also wanted something that completely concealed his identity. He really did not want to get caught, after all. So, after rummaging through his scant wardrobe for a few minutes, Stephen finally decided on a black knit cap so that his characteristic white hair would be concealed. For the formal aspect, Stephen wore a white button down shirt, with the sleeves still attached, a pair of black dress pants, and a pair of black, leather, dress shoes. Stephen wrapped a black tie around his neck, and put cloth gloves on both of his hands. To complete the look, Stephen put on a pair of blacked out sunglasses, then the Guy Fawkes mask. He had done this, so no one would be able to see his eyes. He really, really didn’t want to get caught.

     Hours passed, then it was nightfall. The dance was only an hour away. A potent mixture of fear and excitement washed over Stephen. He wanted to get dressed, run over to the dance. and get it done. but he knew he had to wait. Sergei was still there, after all, and Stephen didn’t want anyone to know that he would be the one behind the Guy Fawkes mask. So Stephen waited. He was sure that Sergei found him just sitting on his bed, anxiously rocking back and forth to be strange. When Sergei became inquisitive, Stephen simply said, “I want my costume to be a secret,” and left it at that. Finally, Sergei left the room, and Stephen began to dress himself. He slowly buttoned up the white oxford, slipped on the black dress pants, guided the black leather belt through the loops. He put on his black socks, tied up his black leather shoes, then put on his black cloth gloves. Placing the black knit cap on his head, and the tinted sunglasses on his face, Stephen put on the final touch: his mask. He stepped over to the mirror, and admired his work.

     Sure the look itself was stupid, but he didn’t care about that. All Stephen wanted out of the costume was something that would completely conceal his identity. He smirked under the mask as he looked at his reflection. Any defining characteristics of his- his white hair, his blue eyes- were all concealed by the costume. The only thing that couldn’t be disguised by his costume was his voice, but he had come up with a solution for that: he simply wouldn’t talk. It was a masquerade dance, after all. Mystery was all part of event. He would not be acting strangely by not talking. People would probably just peg him as someone who really wants to keep their identity hidden, which he did. The only difference would be that he wouldn’t be doing so out of fun, he would be doing so out of preservation. Stephen chuckled. He was quite happy with his work. No one would suspect that it was him. Now, it was time to go and burn this motherf***er to the ground…

     Wait… Stephen froze up, his blood gone cold with a fearful realization. His powers, the things he was going to use to destroy the dance, were a defining feature of his. As soon as he would take off his glove, and form a small red flame in his palm, it would be all over. He, as well as any other fire manipulators present, would be detained and questioned. He would most certainly be found out, then executed.

     Stephen sat on his bed in quiet contemplation. It was twenty minutes until the dance started. Stephen needed to come up with a new plan of attack. He mulled over options in his head. He couldn’t spraypaint, because he didn’t have any. Also: he wanted to do something that would destroy the dance, not just cause a minor annoyance. He could throw things around, and cause a huge mess, but that again would only be a minor annoyance, in the grand scheme of things. Stephen wanted to do something permanent, something lasting, something that said, “We have not, nor will we ever, forget what you did.”

     Stephen continued to sit in silence. It was now ten minutes to the dance, and Stephen was no closer to figuring out a solution to his dilemma. It was at the five minute mark when an idea suddenly dawned on him: he could still use fire, as long as it didn’t come from him. His mind drifted back to happier times, when he was a small child back at home with his mother and father. His father, who worked for the government, had also served in the army. While serving his time, Stephen’s father had learned some handy survival tips, chief among them how to make a fire with a battery and a bubble gum wrapper. Stephen remembered his father showing him the trick. He remembered how amazed he was at the site. He remembered asking his father in a voice full of childlike wonder, “Are you a magician, daddy?”

     His eyes watered under the mask at the memory. He loved his family, and he missed them so much. When he first arrived at the island, he thought that he would be able to see them again. After the battle, however, he began to realize that he might never make it home. Stephen, much to his shame, had begun to blame his father, after the battle. He was the one who knew about Ashford. He was the one who said that Stephen should go. Stephen wondered if his father knew about the truth of Ashford. He quickly suppressed that question, however. His father loved him. There was no way that he would intentionally send his own son to this death trap, right?

     With all of his strength of will, Stephen buried the tears and thoughts deep within himself. Now was not the time to be an emotional wreck. He needed to be strong. He needed to be bigger than himself. He needed to stay smart. He needed to survive.

     Stephen gathered up the necessary materials to make a few fires, careful to do so while wearing gloves, so that his fingerprints would not be on the batteries. He intended on leaving behind as much evidence behind, so that those who would investigate would know that the fire was made by artificial means, but he did not want the evidence to be easily traced back to him. So, after gathering and placing plenty of gum wrappers and batteries into his pocket, Stephen headed to the gymnasium. It was finally time. It was finally time for Stephen to make his mark. It was finally time to fight back.

     Stephen was a few minutes late to the dance. His original plan was to set the decorations ablaze as soon as the dance started. He wanted to do it that way, so that there would be a small amount of people in the gym when he set fire to it. Unfortunately, due to his last minute preparations, Stephen was a good twenty minutes late to the dance, and, thusly, everyone who planned to be there was already there. Stephen tried not to give it much thought as he made a beeline towards a highly concentrated area of paper decorations. When he arrived at an area of low-hanging black, purple, and orange streamers, Stephen took a quick glance around the room to make sure that no one was watching him.

     The gymnasium was completely transformed into a Halloween paradise, with jack-o-lanterns, paper decorations, smoke, cobwebs, and the like. Stephen felt a twinge of regret in his stomach as he surveyed the room. Someone went to a lot of effort to make the gymnasium look the way it did. It was probably done by some of his fellow students, probably those who arrived after the battle; those who were not permanently scarred by the nightmare that occurred. Could he really destroy all of their hard work?

     This only troubled Stephen for a moment. He was filled with remorse for what he was about to do for a few seconds. That remorse was quickly filled with a strong resolve. He didn’t care how much work people put into the dance. He didn’t care if someone put his or her heart and soul into converting the gymnasium into Halloweentown 2.0. What he was about to do was bigger than hurting someone’s feelings.

     He scanned the people in the room. Some of them had put a lot of work into their costumes. For instance, he saw a girl completely decked out as a character from the video game Skull Girls. Could he really ruin their nights? They were probably looking forward to showing off their outfits to all of their friends, and Stephen was just about to completely ruin their nights. Again, however, this remorse was only temporary. Sure, he was about to ruin some people’s nights, but in doing so, he believed, he would be saving their lives. This one act of defiance would hopefully be the catalyst that brought about the revolution against Ashford. The thought of his actions helping all on the island regain freedom was just the motivation Stephen needed. So, without another moment of hesitation or thought, Stephen pulled a battery and gum wrapper out of his pocket, preparing to unite the two, and set the streamers ablaze.

     A sudden blow to his back caused Stephen to freeze, battery and gum wrapper in hand, hunched over a streamer that he had pulled down. His eyes grew wide under his mask. He hoped, somewhat foolishly, that whoever had bumped into him would simply ignore him if he didn't react visibly to the force.

     "Hwat- Ahem, excuse me." Of. Fucking. Course.

     Stephen instantly recognized that voice. Fear and panic washed over him as he hastily shoved the makeshift lighter into his pocket. He swung around to see a masked Camila in a Captain America dress. Immediately, three thoughts went through Stephen’s mind: That’s an awesome dress, and Shit! Did she see what I was going to do? Does she know that it’s me?

     "Halt, evildoer! I have been summoned here to stop your dastardly plans. Surrender immediately, for I do not wish to duel in such a public place!”

     In the hopes that she wouldn’t recognize him, Stephen decided to stay silent, instead opting to over exaggerate his body movement to convey thought. He answered her with a finger pointed directly at himself, as if to say Who, me? He then raised his hand up in an I surrender pose. He tried to act as dismayed and penitent as he could in a Guy Fawkes mask. He hoped that, if he played along, but didn’t speak, she would eventually get bored, and walk away. It was then when he realized a giant inconsistency with Camila, in terms of personality: she was happy. She was happy, and she was outgoing. She probably had not idea that she was acting like a huge dork in front of Stephen; for all she knew, she was acting foolish in front of a student she had never interacted with. Maybe it was because of the alcohol that was giving off a pungent odor from her lips. Or maybe, just maybe, the dance was making her happy. Maybe she was having a good time. Maybe this was the first thing offered at Ashford that finally gave her relief from the hell she had been experiencing, up until this point.

     With that thought in mind, could Stephen still go through with his plan? Could he destroy this whole thing after seeing how happy she was?

     Stephen again shook the guilt away. Of course he could go through with it. She was only like this because she was drunk. Of course the dance was not affecting her positively. Of course he could finish the job. All he had to do was wait for her to leave, then he could finally begin his rebellion. He wasn’t going to chicken out...

     Right?

Mask

[Camila Reyes]

Camila was no idiot. She noticed the object the masked person put in his or her pocket. Honestly, she could not tell if the person under the mask was a male or for female. Sure, she could have looked down a little, but that would be extremely rude. She was not planning on being accused of any kind of odd behavior. Well, other than acting silly. No one was going to stop her from doing that, no matter what. She shook her head a little; she was getting off track. The person pointed to his or herself and she nodded. She could not see the person’s expression underneath the odd-looking mask, but she was sure that it was one of confusion. Once the person put up his or her hands, she let out another cackle of delight. A smile spread across her face and retracted her left arm, though she kept her right extended. She shifted to the side of the stranger, tilting her head a little. She had to admit, they were dressed pretty well, and the mask actually seemed to fit with with the formal dress wear. She leaned forward, trying to make out the features on the mask in the dimming light. It looked familiar, as if she had seen it before… She snapped her fingers; that was it! It was the mask that the man from V for Vendetta wore. For a brief moment, Stephen crossed her mind, but she knew that he was probably not too intent on attending. Her face fell for a moment; he had been having so much trouble opening up. It was easier to get Ash to open up, for Pete’s sake, and usually, that was near impossible because of his jokester attitude. She looked at the person, quirking an eyebrow.

“What do ya have there? Can I see it?”

Honestly, Camila was just curious. She just wanted to make sure she was seeing what she actually saw. She thought she had saw a rather large, square piece of bubblegum. Of course, the alcohol in her system might have also been affecting her eyes, but she could not be sure. She figured the person would most likely say no, considering he or she had tried to hide it from her view as soon as possible. Silence lapsed for a few minutes before Camila smiled again, this time, with a little bit more happiness in her voice. She was trying to shake off the sad thoughts she had been having earlier. There was no point in her dwelling on the fact. Maybe she would stop by the boys’ dorms to see Stephen later. Hopefully, he would like her outfit. She slapped a palm against her forehead. What had even brought that to the forefront of her mind? She did not wear the dress to impress him, she wore it for herself! It just happened to be related to something the blue-eyed young man liked. It was merely a coincidence. She remembered that she was going to ask the nicely dressed person wearing the mask of a fictional terrorist a question.

“Anyway, I was wondering where you got your costume from. It’s pretty neat. Especially the mask. That looks like the one that guy from ‘V for Vendetta’ wore. That reminds me, do you read comics? If so, you should talk to my friend Stephen. He really likes them.”

Camila had not even realized how quickly she was talking or how excited she sounded. She supposed she was just trying to keep herself happy and positive. Being negative had only negative effects on her. So, she had decided to start smiling and laughing more, and this event was the best place to do so. Most other people seemed happy as well, which only fed her positive vibe. She did not want to admit it, but, internally, she was a little disappointed that Barbecue was not there. She really wanted to make it up to him for what she had put him through at the Valentine’s Day Dance. She had come to enjoy his company, especially after the trauma of the battle. Of course, there was no way that she was going to admit such a thing out loud. Sure, she had softened a little, but she was not a complete sap, after all. She looked around, tilting her head. People seemed to be dancing a little more, probably because they had finally realized they were at a dance and not a gossip session. She looked at the masked figure before her and smirked a little.

“Well, I suppose I should compensate you for your swift surrender. Come now, let’s partake in the festivities!”

Without much other warning or reason, Camila took the stranger’s gloved hand and pulled him (or possibly her) onto the dancefloor. She tried to avoid crowded areas, since she was not very fond of crowds. She smiled brightly at the person, unintentionally looking cute as she did so. Even though she could not really dance very well, the young woman made that art form her escape for the night. She had not seen many, if any, of her friends around, so she had to make due with what she had, which was herself and her costume. She still did not quite understand what possessed her to bring a rather secretive-looking person to the dancefloor to dance, but she still tried to have fun. She could not help the giggles that bubbled up from her throat at her own pathetic attempts at dancing. Boy did she probably look like a moron. Honestly, she did not care, though. She was having fun, smiling, laughing, and feeling much better than she had in years. The only thing that could have made it better was to be doing these things with her friends, but she could certainly pull it off on her own too.

[Mutsumi Kanazaki]

Mutsumi had seen all these events unfold from the sidelines. As people stopped enjoying her cosplay she acquired a new sense of boredom that was now only being kept at bay by watching Camilia and Stephen make a fool of themselves on the dance floor. 'That must be some really good punch.' Mutsumi said thinking to herself. As she sat down on a nearby chair. The fun of watching each other's work with their costumes was now over, the main purpose of the party was now begining.

The dance.

God Mutsumi hated dancing. Maybe it was because she herself couldn't dance at all. Maybe if her boyfriend were here she'd be able to play with him a bit. Mutsumi smiled to herself as she would remember the times he turned to steel as she made him nervous. She hadn't seen him for a while and bcame worried. 'I really do hope he's ok.' she said under her breath as she laid her head back on the chair. Mutsumi yawned and sat up straight. She watched Camila and Stephen have fun. "Those two know how to have fun so why can't I?" Sighing heavily she put the palms of her hands to the sides of er cheek. Deep down she knew the reason she wasn't having fun. Mikhail too much. She wore this costume for him, to see what he thought of it. It seemed to go to waste however. Yeah all the other students liked her outfit, but, the person she wanted to see it the most didn't actually get to see it which thus made the entire thing a failure. She shed a tear and cursed him under her breath. "Liar, I thought you said that you'd do nothing to hurt me." Wiping the tear from her eye another seemed to drop in it's place instead.

The green Whisp Known as Ariendel floated up from out her nurse cap and shaped herself into the form of a young girl. 'Don't Worry Mutsumi. Mikhail Probably didn't want to come to the dance. Remember he loves you, very much.' Mutsumi wiped the tears from her eye's as her Mascara began to run. "Thanks Ahri You know what to say in order to cheer me up. Let me go to the bathroom and fix my make up. From here Mutsumi walked to the bathroom covering her face. She'd fix the mascara and eye liner then walk out those doors hoping to join the others in what seemed to be a dance party.