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Summer King Competition; over - congratulations to all winners!
Topic Started: Aug 21 2010, 03:05 PM (1,032 Views)
Alma
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That's the machine that goes 'PING!'
Villagers
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Outfit: ~Clicky<br>
Mood: Ronan: Amused.<br>
TAG: Those sweet little judges~ Free-For-All Fashion Round<br>
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All right. Here came the more difficult part. How to put on this formal outfit before it was time for him to go out there again? He supposed he hadn't quite thought that far ahead. Ronan snorted as he snagged the garment bag and dragged it straight toward a changing room, snaking his way through the collection of men running in each and every direction to be ready for the swimsuit round. He supposed there was something good about being one of the first men called to go out, given that it meant that he felt like he had more time to get ready than those who went at the end. Purely subconscious, but hey, who was he to complain? He slid the curtain shut and hung the garment bag on the makeshift hook inside, turning to admire himself one more time in the mirror.<br>
<br>
He really didn't look half-bad. Ahaha...Patty, eat yer heart out. No doubt Patrick wasn't gonna let him live this down for a good few years, but it was totally worth it. When else would he get the opportunity to strut around like a Playgirl model and set the hearts of lasses everywhere aflame? Besides, he'd always heard that the birds liked scars. He snorted in amusement, running his hand through his hair to get it out of his eyes before he shoved the swim trunks off and went to putting on his further attire. Well. If they liked his scars, they'd better remember to stay away as it was. He was still a dangerous man with a dangerous past, and that brother of his would more than likely rip out their souls if they even tried to romance him away.<br>
<br>
What a time for the interesting reminder that Patrick didn't plan on letting him go. Ever. If the two of them got married to their respective lasses one day, he might insist on the two of them sharing a house. While Ronan understood that terror very well stirring in the base of his gut, the thought that one day he might be without the one person that he loved more than anything, that he felt was his own familial other half, he also wondered to what lengths Patrick was prepared to go to make sure that Ronan could never leave him.<br>
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"RONAN BRENNAN! One minute!" Oh, s**t! Ronan immediately shoved the thoughts aside and threw the clothes on, smoothing them down and making sure he didn't look too messy, before he literally sprinted out of the changing room, leaving his swimsuit and garment bag behind as he threw on his shoes and adjusted his tie. There. Looked good. Looked d*mn fine, actually. One last glance in the mirror to nudge his hair to the side away from his eyes, and he was on his way to the stage. Man, he really needed a haircut. Maybe with his prize money. That thought gave him a little grin just in time for him to strut onto the stage.<bR>
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While he was fully aware that they didn't actually have to choose formal attire for this segment, he knew he looked good in this and he was going to play that off as well as he could. Besides, this outfit had history. There were a few spots of blood hidden on the shirt beneath the sleek blazer, in fact, from the espionage attempt that had gone wrong. But whatever. Couldn't exactly afford to buy something completely new and nice for something like this, especially when he and Patrick barely had much money to their names anyway. The Guinness trunks were worth it enough, even if it meant they might not be able to afford those f**king nice cigarettes later.<br>
<br>
Even with his thoughts occupied, his strut was still solid, with one of his hands tucked onto a pant pocket and the other arm swinging freely. If anything, it just gave him a contemplative, serious expression on his face instead of the hammy attitude he'd had this entire time. Two sides to the same coin, of course. It was when he paused at the end of the catwalk, however, that he came back to himself and blinked rather blankly. "..." He should do something clever. But what?! NO TIME! He settled for a simple smile, waggling his eyebrows a little, before he turned and made his way back down the catwalk.<br>
<br>
All right. He could've done better. But he was pretty sure that that wolf whistle from the back of the crowd was Patrick's, so at least he knew he could laugh at himself. He chuckled, making his way back down into the dressing rooms. God, this day was awesome.


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Ammy
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saturday, summer 21st08<br>
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tag;; manly men / judges / open<br>
round(s);; interview & swimsuit<br>
outfit;; click
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<br><br>
Chris found this whole festival thing endlessly amusing, perhaps even moreso than the Spring Queen. A girl could never tire of looking at a bunch of muscled, strapping young men flexing in speedos, apparently. The day that got boring was the day she died. She sat at the judges table, buffing her nails as she waited for this shindig to get rolling. Her fellow judges were late. Maybe they don’t have friends in this thing, she figured the only reason she was so punctual was for Abe’s sake. Moral support and all that jazz, if it weren’t for him she would probably be late, too. Who were the other judges again? Oh, right. Madison and Drew, the latter she vaguely remembered being the nervous Nelly from the Spring Queen pageant. The former she had met not so many days ago, the one with the implants. Working with them would be cool, she guessed. Chris had this sinking feeling that she would be the one making all the tough decisions, but that was the story of her life. One of these days she was going to stop being surprised by the idea and just accept it.<br><br>

She heard the crowd go quiet, giving her pause. She looked up at the stage, where the Mayor himself now waddled into a spotlight. “Hello everyone! Thank you for joining us today for the Summer King Competition!” he bellowed into a microphone. Chris put her hands together in a half-hearted sort of clap. Hm, don’t know too many in this thing. she thought as the Mayor listed off the names, most of the names she recognised from the Mayor’s census or other boring paperwork, but there were only a handful that she knew by face. Wes Richardson, of course he’d be in this, from their previous encounter Chris had gotten this impression that he was a man who loved him some competition. Oh, and he was pretty, so it was a perfect fit. Then Michael. Chris snorted. Dear God, that was a laugh, he had to be a bit older than everyone on the stage. Of course, there was Abraham. Maybe she was biased, but she figured he had a good shot of winning this thin. Sure, he wasn’t exactly the epitome of a man, but he had personality and was always fun to watch on stage. Not to mention a damned hard worker, managing to balance his practise for the competition with work and the theatre.<br><br>

Chris waved to the audience at her introduction, allowing a smile to grace her features. Let’s get this show on the road. She leaned in her chair, one elbow propped up by the back of the chair. Interviews, alright. She honestly loved this bit, how people answered revealed a lot about a person, whether or not it was what they meant. Abe’s answers were all expected, not much Chris didn’t know about him, really. It didn’t make them any less interesting, he was always thorough, and actually thought them out, or he seemed to, anyway. If he didn’t think them out, he was doing a damned good job of improvising. ”... beating some pansies at ice skating.” she heard none other than Wes Richardson saying, with a very obvious wink directed at her. Chris stifled a snort, grinning. Dream on, Richardson.<br><br>

Most of the other answers went pretty normally, except for a... Roman general. What the hell? She couldn’t tell if the guy was acting or if he honestly believed what he was saying, but she had this sinking feeling he was serious. Seriously, what was the world coming to? Oh, and this Aqua Avon character was doing a good job of pissing her off. No, your hair looks like a porcupine nested on your head, she thought angrily, placing her chin in her hands as she almost glared up at him on stage. Maybe she just preferred natural spike over copious amounts of hair gel, but if you were going to use it at least make sure you don’t look like a prick. And you’re not cool, goddammit. I’d rather die than go on a date with you. God, she wanted to punch him.<br><br>

Calm down, Chris. This thing hasn’t even really started yet and you’ve already chosen a victim. she told herself, breathing slowly. By the time she had calmed herself down, it was already time for the swimsuit bit. Hopefully there would be lots of pectoral muscles to stare at, everybody looked in shape, so it wouldn’t be painful at least. The first guy out there was the Irishman, or at least that was what she had assumed from the accent. She snorted, biting back laughter at his swimsuit. Guinness beer, if she wasn’t mistaken. He had... a pretty good body, despite the numerous scars that marred his torso. Must’ve been in a number of fights, something Chris could relate to, she would have a load of scars as well, but knew when to turn tail and run. “Hey,” she replied, grinning widely. The best part of this was when she knew that they were having fun, it just made the experience all the more interesting for her, and perhaps her fellow judges.<br><br>

So far so good. Next was some dude with purple hair that wasn’t Abe, strangely enough. He looked nervous as hell, just barely containing his nerves. Chris thought she saw his legs tremble as he paused at the end of the runway, without so much as acknowledging the judges. The next was okay, he looked comfortable at the very least. Oh, great, she groaned inwardly at the sight of that Aqua guy on stage. Chris was dreading this already. ”Ladies. "Have a lovely evening." She buried her face in her hand as he turned back down the runway, resisting the urge to flip him the bird. Somehow she doubted that would go over too well with the audience. Still, that didn’t mean she couldn’t just imagine breaking the windows to his house or keying his car, right?<br><br>

Wes, great. More presumably overinflated ego, but at least his hair didn’t piss her off. Her anger quickly dissipated as she noticed what Wes was wearing, and then everything he wasn’t wear. She hid her grin behind a hand, observing him casually. Not too bad, she admitted that he could pull off a speedo. The bright colour did an okay job of contrasting with his hair. Hopefully he wasn’t being dead serious, though, having a sense of humour when wearing a speedo made the experience a little more tolerable. Wait, what the hell was that? she thought, noticing his very deliberate kiss to Miss LaRosa. Chris’s smirk widened, and she snorted softly. “You know that guy?” she asked to her fellow judge, keeping her voice low. God, this was just too much. Hopefully the next guy would be low-key.<br><br>

Oh, never mind it was Abe. Not low-key by any means, but seeing him always calmed her in some way. She knew he wasn’t a big fan of swimsuits. ”You ladies always get the pretty things!” he would say as they shopped, and it was kind of true. Sad, but true. Still, the shirt over top was a nice effect, and did a great job of accenting his purple hair. If there were only two purple haired contestants in this thing, she was glad Abe was doing a better job of being memorable, not riding off the hair colour or anything. Chris waved at him, grinning, before sitting back in her chair.<br><br>

Free-for-all fashion already? Darn, no more muscles for her.

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Kel94 ♪
This looks like a job for....
Mayor
Aqua Avon
Free for all Round
Outfit:
"Damn, I'm hot"
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Ah yeah! Time to funk it out! Time to show these sucker how free for all! Psh, those other guys were way to formal for his taste. They didn't get it, did they? Aqua time. Show these suckers how its done. Wa-bam, his turn. Hello, runway. Missed you. And out he came. Strutting that stuff again, crowd going wild. Aspen's sign flashing again. That to girl was too sweet. She really is. Even if she couldn't hear what was going on, her eyes worked better anyway. So he waved to her, let her know he appreciates her support. Eh, might as well wave to everyone else to. But mostly Aspen. Whoop, dead end. Wave to the judges to. Decisions, decisions. Which one to ask out later? Definitely not the purpley one. She was glaring daggers at him...again! That was girl was weird. Probably time to turn back anyway. But not without one last goodbye kiss to the crowd, before disappearing back behind the curtains. "Good luck out there boys. Especially you, Lee" Aqua said to the blue guy, punching his shoulder lightly. "Thanks Aqua. You were awesome out there!" Leon replied. Yeah, he knows.
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Leon Uno-Cinco
Free for all Round
Outfit:
"Well here I go!"
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Man, the competition was going to get fierce! The contestants looked pretty good, but Leon felt a little silly in this hat. it was thanks to Aqua, the spike head, that he was wearing such a thing. The other guy said that "free for all really meant the most unoriginal". Aqua had nailed that by bringing a couple different outfits to choose from. And felt generous enough to rent one out. What a guy! And his little words (and shoulder punch) of encouragement made Leon feel totally ready for this. It was just like Pumpkin Day all over again. Now, time to shine! He stepped out, instantly greeted by applause. Alright, act cool. Down he went, a shy smile crossing his face. Easier than the swimsuit round. 'Do something cute" Aqua had said. "Leave something behind that the judges will remember you by"/I]. Okay, how about a tip of the hat? It was a polite gesture, really. And now, to turn back. There, not to bad. Right?
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Wes Nibai
Free for all round
Outfit:
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Well, this is an outfit for the ages. Wes actually got it from an old British rock magazine. The style...inspired him a bit. So he ran all over town, looking for the right clothing that resembled the outfit. He was close to it, his guitar as an extra touch. He looked ridiculous, but those other boys did to. To think, they were all around the same age. Yet, Wes felt older than that. Odd. Whatever, his turn would be soon. The others were doing well. Not affected by this at all. How did they do it? He pondered about it until he came out on stage. Crap. At least he wasn't half naked this time, so perhaps things will be better. The purple haired man walked out, trying to keep his composure this time. So far, so good. This time, a small nod to the leading ladies. He felt a little rude for not doing so last round. Pausing for a second, he headed back, grateful that the show was almost over.
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People say you've been talking, you got a big mouth. Saying words you know aren't true, what the hell are you talking about? So now we have a conundrum, and the problem is clearly you. This is the part where it gets ugly, and the solution getting rid of you. You'll never be safe in the shadows, I'll be waiting in the dark. With a shovel and a bag full of lime, and I'll say the devil made me do it.
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Semislay
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"No no, not the cool kind of nerds. The nerd nerds."
Villagers
[align=center]Summer 21st, Year 08|Around 3:00pm
Tag: Charlie, Tenjukai, Awesome Judges
Round: Swimwear[/align]

Spotting his pal Charlie, Craig waved friendly and invited him over. "Hat Man! Want a smoke to take the edge off?" He spoke, taking a puff of his cigar. He was completely ignorant to the fact to how it could be giving everyone's clothes a bad stench, far too immune to it himself. Seeing his pal Charlie certainly made him relax more, remembering the two's amusing first night of ribs and sheer antics. Charlie was a friendly sort of chap, one that Craig certainly didn't mind hanging out with.

What made him even more relaxed was the sudden appearance of another man......Another man who was seven feet tall too. Holy...I thought I was the only giant around here... That sudden appearance made Craig relax so much he couldn't describe it. Suddenly he felt like part of the crowd. He felt the same size as everyone, didn't feel so intimidating. He gave the man a wave to be friendly, to get to know the man who had experience the same thing he had. "Hey man. Name's Craig. I have to say this is the first time I've met someone my same size."

As time passed and the cigars finally hit their butts, the behemoth grinned. The interview was concluded and now the swimsuit round was happening. Well...time to show off the goods. Hope the ladies like it... Craig just grinned and laughed slightly to himself, taking from the small bag of clothes, a dark blue pair of large swimtrunks. Concealing his true package but comfortable for him. Besides they were about three extra large and still too tight on the muscled masses that were his legs. Well at least all the muscles would give the ladies something to oogle, if the scars that lined him didn't catch their eyes first.

After having changed into the simple but comfortable trunks he grinned, beginning to make his way down the runway. His footsteps were loud and easily heard, basically almost shaking the entire stage as he walked down it. His muscles began to flex and the veins poked out against the skin, his large, Hercules like form casting a large shadow as the lights shined upon them. He stepped at the end of the stage and stood there, his legs taking a few steps apart. His arms came up and flexed, the massive muscles being emphasized. He was given, cursed almost, with this inhuman size. He might as well let the ladies look over his Zeus like form. The king of gods...that wasn't something he saw himself as but his body said otherwise.

Large, well developed biceps and triceps. His muscles practically pushed his skin to it's limits but kept it looking as decent as possible besides how the veins stuck out and informed everyone of how they ran. A giant six pack of abs, looking like they could crush metal if they could. Each one was well developed, much like the chest they came from. They were well the size of someone's head and dang near felt like bone if you touched him. One could only imagine hitting him there would be more detrimental to that person then to him. And his legs looked like that of a statue, bulging with muscle upon muscle. There was a reason this man was called a brick wall, a behemoth. For those ladies, looking upon how chiseled he was...they could now know.

The only things that contradicted his form were the several scars upon his body, mostly upon his chest, the left part of his stomach, and his right calf. The one that was upon his chest. That small little bullet wound, just a few inches from where his heart was. What an amusing story that was. At least in his mind. First battle in the military. Storming through a sandy battlefield, attacking a well hidden enemy. Wounded by a sniper round in the chest. Oh boy how that sucker stung. He supposed he asked for it though, charging straight into a barricade that was blocking off where his fellow soldiers needed to go. Better him then a poorer chap, one who would have been taken down permanently by that. After all if there was anything his troops needed taken down, he did it. Despite any injuries that surely came with it. After all you couldn't just go bursting into enemy hideouts, expecting to get away unscathed. Oh he wished many times one of those would be the last but unfornately...those worthless tangos could never score the killing shot on him. ...It would have been easier for me...

Now the large scar upon the left part of his stomach, mostly along the side. That burn came from the lovely sensation of a burning hot piece of a tank that had been blowed to bits, colliding with him. Marching with armor through a forest proved to have been one of the most painful experiences he had ever felt. And yet his body resisted it. Granted it wasn't a large piece of a tank but a fairly decent size size of blunt shrapnel. He barely knew what happened after the yelling of a superior to get down followed by the temporary deafening explosion. Which was then followed by the collision of hot metal against his battle gear. His breath was gone for a while but he still managed to get up and keep on fighting.

And the one upon his right leg...that came from a grenade. A grenade he foolishy made go off when he was just a new recruit. Tinkering with them then dropped it too close to his leg and only managed to get enough distance in time so it wouldn't blow his leg to smithereens, just scar it for life. Everyone of the scars upon his body he basically had some sort of story for. And the common factor amongst all of them? Conflict. Always from conflict.

After flexing and showing off long enough for the ladies, Craig relaxed and gave them a thumbs up followed by a flashy grin. Afterwards he turned, giving them a look at how the muscles existed all the way around him before he headed back into the backrooms with the other competition. Heh...Can't believe I actually managed that. I've felt stress before but this is something entirely different then before. Fairly fun though. Craig grinned to no one, looking at himself in the mirror, already getting things sorted for the next round. Keep showing off what you got...
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tearsandroses
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The Sweet Transvestiiiite
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[align=center]"Well I don't give a damn about my reputation"<br>
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br>
Summer 21st, 08<br>
Around 3:00pm<br>

Wearing<br>
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So this was a male beauty contest. It's too bad Zach wasn't here to participate. He loved this kind of crap. She sighed as she tugged at her bandage skirt. It had been awhile since she dressed in something other than a baggy t-shirt and jeans or shorts. <br><br>
She waved to Chris and nodded to Wes, whom she didn't feel comfortable talking to simply because she didn't want anyone to think she was playing favorites- which she wasn't. She sat at the table and awaited the q&a portion. <br><Br>
There was that dude Abe who apparently knew Chris. Seemed rather cheerful, charismatic, and that hair, god did it make him stand out. She had a feeling she'd like this one. <br><br>
Then Wes. He certainly had some amusing answers. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and chuckle when he gave some answers that might reveal just what an ego he had. But....he certainly had a shot. And not just because of their history, and his kissing skills. He was actually a pretty interesting individual. <br><br>

A few other guys came after that, but there was one guy who caught her eye....and not in a good way. <br><br>

That dude with the obnoxiously spiky hair....he annoyed her. As if the over-usage of hair gel weren't enough. Even her friend Drake didn't use that much of it!!! And he seemed girl crazed, ugh, asshole. She didn't express these feelings, trying to be politically correct and all. <br><br>
That guy with the bushy blonde hair and the hat, Charlie Collins seemed cool. Laid back but had a certain charm to him. She liked this one. <br><br>
Then Craig Manning, the tall guy. He was REALLY tall. Muscular too. But he seemed like a bit of a softie. She loved guys like that. All big and tough but really a total teddybear underneath. As friends anyway. She was a bit more picky when it came to romantic interests. And he knew that woman Amelia she met back in Spring. <Br><Br>
That guy with the accent seemed pretty cool. She mainly loved his accent. IT was amusing. His answers were pretty amusing too though. <br><Br>
Then that other tall dude. The guy who seemed like a grouch. She didn't find herself too fond of him. SMILE! IT takes less muscles to do than frowning. God....<br><Br>
she liked that Fred guy though. He seemed...simple but not so simple he was boring. And his hair was cool. <br><Br>
That guy with the glasses stammerred alot. Kind of timid looking really. But nothing was wrong with being nervous. It took guts to come out here after all. <br><br>
The roman general dude was....interesting. Seemed kind of loopy. <br><br>
And now for the swimsuit portion. She wasn't so sure if she was looking forward to this. Alot of guys half naked, some of tem rather attractive. But she made a vow that she'd act professional with this. She'd stick to it. <Br><br>
First up was that guy with the accent. Ronan Brennen. .He had quite a nice figure for a man. He looked in about his late 20's and for some reason most of the time Madison pictured men in their late 20s as chubby with 5 o'clock shadow. But what she really liked was his swimsuit. Just something about a combination of green and black appealed to her. <br><Br>
Then next guy she felt a bit bad for. He seemed like an absolute nervous wreck. Like he was going to die of embarrassment. He didn't look too bad, but confidence is key. Still she couldn't help but feel bad for the guy. Perhaps he was pushed into doing this like Lisa pushedher for the spring queen. <br><br>
then came that Leon fellow. He seemed....confident at least. . <br><Br>
Up next was porccuipine boy. Ugh, what an ego. She again resisted the urge to roll her eyes and simply did her best to keep a casual smile on her face as he walked away. No dude no. Just go. she thought. <br><Br>
Then Wes. Oh lord this guy was priceless. Oh...MY god. she thought to herself as Wes walked down the catwalk in that tiny little blue speedo. He certainly put on a show that was for sure. And while she did try to stay proffessional she couldn't help but laugh a bit, and boy were her cheeks red. Then, Wes just had to go and ruin her proffessonal act y sending her that little going away present, causing Madison's face to become slightly pink and she slid down a bit in her chair. "You know that guy?" her sort of friend Chris asked. Madison whispered back "Yep. That I do.", chuckling. <br><br>
Well she wasn't sure what could top that performance. Or that swimsuit. Good lord. <br><br>
Abe was up next. The guy who apparently knew Chris. He seemed a bit more comfortable than some, but not quite as brave or bold as some others. He was...simple. Besides the hair. She liked him. Waving a it as he greeted the crowd, she found herself smiling again. Whether it be a leftover from the recent laughing or not, it was a smile. <br><br>
Up next was te big guy. Craig. He looked good. Very well toned body. And he had alot of scars it seemed. But she paed them no attention. She didn't like when people asked about the big scar on her left hand, she didn't pay any attention to other people's scars. <br><Br>
And with that the swimsuit portion was over. She couldn't wait to see the next round.
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Midnight Sleeper ♪
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Whoops!
Mayor
[align=right]Summer 21
Outfit: Right about...here!
Tag!: Craig, Judges, Open Book
Round: Swimmy Time![/align]

“So far, so good, Collie!”

Chuckling to himself, Charlie sets his suitcase on the floor before stretching his hands behind his back and taking a better look at the backstage area. Men of all shapes, sizes, and kinds here, it would seem. And of course, just as the blonde in the hat had thought, there would be Big Man about ten feet away enjoying himself a nice smoke. A couple of the people wandering back here seem to be a little distressed about it, but really, even though he doesn’t mean for it, Craig can be a rather intimidating guy. That would probably be some of the reason as to why he’s still smoking away.

”Hat Man! Want a smoke to take the edge off?”

“Hiya, Big Man!” Charlie cheerfully returns the greeting. “No thanks on the smoke offer though. I think I’m feeling pretty mellowed out for the time being. Awfully nice of you to think of me though, my rib eating comrade! Probably be a good idea to snuff that before going out for the interview though.”

Grinning and nodding to Craig, Charlie picks his suitcase up and finds himself a place where he can dress, undress, dress again, undress again…well, one gets the idea rather clearly there. Not that he has to do it for the interview portion, but there’s that whole swimwear bit and the whole fancy-schmancy formal wear bit. Best to have a place to change, lest he wind up doing it in the hall. That probably wouldn’t go over too well with anybody. Especially not if one of the judges happened to walk by. Well, maybe it would. Who knows? Well, considering the fact that his cousin is friends with one of the judges and had a dinner date with another, Bucky probably would.

“Charlie Collins! It’s time for your interview!”

“Well, glad I got back here when I did…best not to drag my heels anymore.” Charlie replies quietly with a grin as he follows the man out to the stage. Interviews…what the heck is this, a job? Well, actually, to be fair, it more or less is. Not a paying job, mainly one for bragging rights, but a job nonetheless. Technically, anyways. Well then, it would probably be a good idea to go out here and nail the dang thing. Or at least try his damnest to.
---

”Well…that was pretty good, if I do say so myself.”

Grinning and shaking his head as he makes his way to the back, Charlie’s words continue to echo in his head. True to the blonde that tossed his hat to the crowd, he had done his damnest with his interview. Although he had to say, he found his answers to be a little…surprising, to say the least. Given his whole cheerful outlook on life, Charlie was fully expecting to be a little more cheerful and playful with his answers, rather than have more than half of them come out as somber and humble as they did. Probably for the best, in hindsight really. There was enough serious in there to show that he’s not a simple buffoon, and enough playfulness in there to show that he isn’t a stick in the mud. And on a bright note, somebody got themselves a nice souvenir in the form of a hat. Good thing the blonde seems to have a seemingly never ending supply of them.

Making his way over to his suitcase, Charlie goes about the task of changing his colors. Or at least his clothes. As he rifles though the case looking for his board shorts, the blonde thinks about everybody else’s answers. A lot of humble people out there. Which is nice to see. A bunch of grown men being egotistical over a contest really isn’t Charlie’s cup of tea. One fella, the really tall one other than Craig seemed to show a bit of disdain for the whole thing. Maybe someone signed him up? There was also Spartacus. Not sure what his story is, but at the very least he was rather entertaining. And then there were the ladies men…well, the self proclaimed ladies men. Kind of funny and sad if they think it’s going to help them win. Not being able to tell what any of them are thinking, from Bucky’s talking about Chris, the blonde finds it fairly likely that it’d take more than cheesy pickup lines to sway her. Best of luck to them though. After all, it’s not his opinion that’s gonna choose a winner. Best to do what one can do for themselves.

”That being said…”

Humming to himself now, Charlie finishes tying up his board shorts, his thoughts of the interview a thing of the past. So much more to size up now. Quite literally. A bunch of different body types here. Pasty, average, ripped with muscles. Looking about, it makes Charlie feel fairly good with his slight tan and toned physique. Nothing that’s going to hold a candle up to Craig’s biceps of righteous fury, true, but at any rate, it’s better than a beer belly or something else of the sort.

Speaking of Craig though…wow. Charlie had known that he was a commando and all, but still. Seeing what the horrors of war have done to his body, the blonde can only imagine the suffering each one entailed. With his time in the Peace Corps, Charlie had seen his fair share of things that he’d rather not: Men savagely beating their wives because that’s what the culture allowed, men fighting to the death over matters of honor, military insurgents running roughshod through third world countries. But somehow, Charlie gets the feeling that his buddy has been through much worse; the map of pain and mutilation etched across his body attesting to that fact. Poor fella.

“My turn now, it looks like. Excuse me, gents!”

Smiling and nodding to the other contestants, Charlie plops a hat on his head before making his way towards the stage, patting Craig on the shoulder as he passes. Purging the thoughts of the horrors of war from his head, Charlie beams as he walks out on the stage, taking extra special care to make sure that the smile he’s wearing doesn’t scream cheap and phony as so many pageant ones seem to. After all, no reason to have a cheap, phony smile. The blonde has rather been enjoying his time here thus far, after all.

As far as swimwear goes, the little ditty that Charlie’s chosen for the day is rather modest compared to some of the other contestants. Like Rooster Boy’s little blue Speedo. Truthfully, the fella was probably lucky that he didn’t have a wardrobe malfunction, what with the whole thing being smaller than small and him going and smacking himself like a Chippendale stripper. But then again, maybe he was shooting for that? No such luck for anyone that wants to see a little more of Charlie though. Board shorts down to his knees, a nice little tribal pattern to them. Only fitting, Charlie figures, considering the time that he had spent traveling the world. Flip flops to go along with it and of course, a nice bucket hat to keep that sun from wreaking havoc on his face with a nasty sunburn.

Continuing on down the walkway, the blonde ponders what, if anything he should to for the judges. Considering his general disdain with others doing it, openly flirting with the judges is out of the question for Charlie. Not his style, not to mention that Jane was able to get runner up without doing anything like that. For his buddy’s sake, if he’s going to win it, he’d better not resort to any tricks like that, lest Little Red point it out. Although there is something that he can do. Hopefully not making himself look like a complete fool in the process.

Now standing in front of the judges, Charlie grins and bows. “Well now, I know that compared to some of these fellas, I’m not sculpted like a Greek god or anything, so sorry for that. I would like to think that I keep myself in halfway presentable shape though. That being said, flexing might not leave too much of an imprint, but it’s just so boring to just walk out here, so I figure I should give you gals something.”

Taking a deep breath in, Charlie goes from his bowing position to more of a squatting one. Gonna be tough to pull off with something as unreliable as flip flops on his feet, but hey. You only live once. Another deep breath and the blonde flings himself into the air. Lifting his legs and tucking his arms in, Charlie begins the process of flipping his body. Everything looks like it’s right side up. Time to land it. Keeping the grin on his face despite his concentration, Charlie’s feet hit the ground in a triumphant thud, landing correctly and showing no signs of losing his balance. Shooting the judges and the audience a thumbs up, the blonde pivots on his feet and makes his way to the back.

”Mission accomplished, Collins. Hopefully it wasn’t too flashy…”
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Indigo
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» bye-bye lover
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Sorry, this is a few days late, but you guys can now begin posting for the TALENT PORTION. Please note that if you're doing the bonus round, you can COMBINE THE POSTS.
<br><br>
The following contestants have not posted for the swimwear portion:
  • Marzell Feldt
    <br>Camille Ferrer
    <br>Fred Blossom
    <br>Tenjukai Sajotae
    <br>Derek Tanner
    <br>Justinius Servius
And the following contestants have yet post for the free-for-all-fashion display.
  • Wes R.
    <br>Craig Armstrong
    <br>Charlie Collins
    <br>Marzell Feldt
    <br>Camille Ferrer
    <br>Fred Blossom
    <br>Tenjukai Sajotae
    <br>Derek Tanner
    <br>Justinius Servius

A reminder: deadline for all replies is September 28th.
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Semislay
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align=center]Summer 21st, Year 08|Around 3:00pm
Tag: Awesome Judges
Round: Free for all
Outfit: Click here[/align]

All right well the revealing swimwear round is dealt with, time for fashion. Not that I know a thing about that. The large man grinned, having sat down upon his chair in front of a mirror, looking over the last things he needed to add to his outfit. Granted his outfit wasn't really fashionable, but then again most things that looked good...he just couldn't wear. His body would just tear them to shreds. So no...his best bet in this round was to go with what worked and what he felt most comfortable with. How strange it was his commando outfit, the thing he had worn for the last six years. The four years unaccounted for was when he was just a regular old infantry unit, well known for sheer numbers and getting mowed down by enemy defense.

He sat there and idly ran his thumb along the dirty, stained metal that was his dog tags, and the dog tags of his fallen comrade in arms. His face was solemn, his eyes staring down at them. Not only his own wish flooding his mind but the other dog tags. All the others he had to collect from his fallen comrades. All the fallen soldiers in his squad in the third infantry. ...I lived where you guys died...Hope ya'll are still resting easy... The memories were still fresh of all the deaths. Scott the Nine Toes, a nickname he got from when he accidentally shot one of his own toes off. Killed in Action from a grenade. Larry the Sledge, a shorter man than Craig but still a large man himself. Killed in Action from a sniper. And finally George the Mouse, a scared, nerdy, man. Committed suicide via his hand gun. While in the mess hall. Eating. Needless to say Craig lost his appetite when he saw how brains covered his food. The closest friends in his squad, all dead. And he just kept on moving. He felt his gigantic hands begin to tremble, forcing them still as he gripped his dog tags tightly. ...I'll never forget any of you. Give me some luck in this fellas... Placing the dog tags on his neck, he flipped them to where they were visible, walking toward the stage now. His own tag...it was the first one that stuck out in the pile.

ARMSTRONG
CRAIG
Illegible numbers
B NEG
Illegible word

As he walked out onto the stage and the lights hit his massive form once more, his choice of outfit would obviously stand out.

First off upon his hands were brown gloves, barely holding together it seemed. They seem well used, evidence upon his choice of lifestyle before coming to this peaceful island. The one upon his left hand seemed, at first glance, like they were just wrapping, like that of medical variety. But the one upon his right seemed to be in much better condition compared to the left. And further more, upon these gloves were metallic plates covered the knuckles...that had bolts welded to them. Wait. BOLTS!? That's right. Very large bolts were welded to the metallic plates, the threaded parts sticking out. Obviously these were designed to make his punches that more deadly. Even if you were lucky enough to survive one of his punches....chances are your jaw certainly wouldn't. After all a shattered jaw would never really recover.

Secondly, upon that well chiseled yet scarred chest he showed off to those lovely ladies in the judges’ seats, rested a large, tight fitting blue, sleeveless shirt. There was a v like design upon it, a darker color on most of his chest and back, the lighter colors on the sides. It didn't seem too protecting to be honest but allowed him maximum movement and comfort whenever he would take a swing at someone. His arms weren't restricted with this choice of clothing, the part of his body he used most after all. He was well known for his punches so why would his commando outfit restrict that? Contradicting the shirt were the dog tags, hanging out near where his sternum would be. They stuck out and completed his outfit at the same time, obviously indicating more of his military background.

Third, were the simple blue jeans upon his legs, tight fitting as well, much like his shirt and the trunks he showed off earlier. They were held up on his waist by a camouflage belt, a link of chains hooked, incase he wanted to ever unhook them and wrap them already around his deadly fists. You know, for an extra kick of spice into a knockout punch. They also made a great whip incase he ever needed to catch an escaping target real quick. Granted that was if Amelia wasn’t getting the crosshair of her sniper rifle onto the target. If she was well…the chains became horribly insignificant. Now the jeans were faded, and three cuts rested upon the left leg. These happened to have come from a duel with Ace. Along with the many knife scars upon his face.

Fourth and final, he was wearing large boots, metallic plates and bolts attached to these too. Not truly comfortable but made his kicks as deadly as well. Well not really kicks, more like stomps. He couldn't really kick as well as anyone else could, both of the legs needed to truly keep his massive upper body in balance. But if a target was knocked down…they could feel what the large boot of a behemoth felt like, crushing their spine or ribs. A pain like that would probably be indescribable.

He took a stop at the end of the catwalk and flexed once more to make sure the judges got a good look at his outfit. After a few seconds he relaxed and gave them a thumbs up before making his way back to the backroom to take a seat once more. He grinned and cracked his knuckles, looking at the mirror. ...Well I'm sure that was interesting for the ladies to see. Nothing like this kind of outfit after all...
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Alma
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[align=right]Outfit: ~Clicky 1 || ~Clicky 2<br>
Tag: Juuuudgeeees~ || Free-For-All Fashion Round[/align]<br>
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<br>
He noticed, making his way into the back again, that the reactions he was getting from the judges weren't quite...what he was planning or expecting. Madison played perfectly into his hands, of course, with that lovely little cherry red blush that swept across the apples of her cheeks when he winked at her, but Chris hadn't seemed quite as impressed. In fact, if he didn't know any better...he'd say that she more than likely liked some of the other candidates more. He'd seen the way she'd responded to some of those answers in the interviews. His, she didn't seem to be too impressed by. She'd really taken on a hint of annoyance every time that Irish guy opened his mouth. And that blond, with the hat...THAT was his greatest contender. He passed him and eyed him subtly from the corner of his eye as he made his way toward the dressing stand. But what did that mean that he had to do to compete? Wes huffed out a little sigh as he collected his clothing for the next round, the last one that would involve any of this modeling business, and made his way back toward a free dressing area, sweeping the curtain to the side and shutting it behind him.<br>
<br>
As he removed the speedo with just as much care as he'd put into putting it on, he let strategies run through his mind. Was winning incredibly important to him? No, not necessarily, though the rumored cash prize would definitely help that business of his a little more. Just a few more funds and he might even be able to start up what he hoped to make seasonal expeditions that would fuel his shop with popularity. Expanding it would mean that he could hire a few more employees as well, thus taking the load off of him, giving him maybe a little more eye candy, and getting to know a few chaps. That'd be nice. But did he really want the title of Summer King? He paused after he pulled on his boxer briefs, pursing his lips a bit in thought. ...yeah, a little. At the same time, he wouldn't be crushed if he didn't get it. He didn't think anyone in this tent was girly enough to cry if they lost or whatever.<br>
<br>
Remembering the fact that he still had to be on that speed within a decent amount of time, Wes returned to dressing, grabbing a pair of loose-fitting black slacks and yanking them on over his underwear. He was smart. He could plot and dress himself quickly at the same time. Whatever. Ignore the fact that a chimpanzee could do that, and his ego expanded a bit more. That blond fellow. That was his primary competition at the moment. He had a charming, almost innocent air about him, and he looked way too good while smiling and giving those little answers to his interview questions. Wes hadn't had a chance to see what the guy could do on the stage, of course, but he was almost glad of that fact. It didn't give him any sort of ideas as to what he could do that might possibly copy him just in an attempt to show the judges that anything that blond could do, Wes could do better. They were two different entities. They held two different aspects of charm. They couldn't be expected to shadow one another. Instead, they'd complement one another, in a way. While that blond guy - Charlie, maybe that was his name - was the innocent charmer, the one that girls took home to Mommy and Daddy and fawned over and watched movies with, Wes was the guy that the girl'd run to on the side when she got ticked off that Mr. Beaver Cleaver couldn't give her that rush of danger that she wanted.<br>
<br>
It occurred to him in that one fateful instant, so suddenly that he froze, that there was almost no way he could win this competition. "...F**k." He spat out the expletive fast before he went back to buttoning his shirt, fingers flying expertly over them.<br>
<br>
Of COURSE he had next to no chance! He represented that darkness that women would tease and wink at, but they didn't necessarily want to experience it in public. If he could make those judges blush or give 'em a nice grin and a fantasy of just what sort of amazing things Wes might be able to do to them with his tongue, that gave them one more reason not to vote for him as King. This was a conservative, soft area. The antihero didn't win. The Prince Charming did.<br>
<br>
"F*******k..." He tossed on his black blazer, leaving it open as he hastily went after his socks and his boots after that. Fine. It was whatever. If anything, that just gave him the opportunity to have a bit more fun with the judges. He already knew what he was walking into, after all. He tossed his ponytail over his shoulder, adjusted his white button-down long-sleeved shirt so that a very obvious hint of his chest was exposed, and studied himself one last time in the mirror. He looked hot, even with those goggles of his that had gone so nicely with his swimsuit against his forehead. Go with it. Don't f**king second guess yourself, just GO with it.<br>
<br>
And so he did. Wes put on a face of determination, a contemplative frown and a set brow, as he grabbed his stuff and strode out of the dressing room, tossing everything into his chair. He heard the soft thumping of the music playing behind them as they walked down the catwalk and let it fuel him, the intensity of the bass beat zeroing in on his heart and changing its rhythm ever so subtly. He knew that instrument so well. It was just one aspect of his life. He traced his hand over the safe, black carrying case of the bass that hung on his chair as he passed it, eyes ever set on the prize. What was the prize now, if there was no chance for him? Have fun? Get a number or two if he was lucky? Yeah, sure, why not? He'd been having fun this whole dang time, hadn't he? What the hell was gonna stop him now, just because he wasn't gonna WIN the dang thing? He flicked a few spikes of hair away from his eyes and slid past the stagehand just as his name was called, heading for that catwalk with sheer determination.<br>
<br>
This time, as he came onto the stage, his movements took on the sheer fluidity of a feline's, like a panther stalking its prey. That flirty expression was gone from his face, replaced with a heated intensity and a fire burning in his gaze. He'd forgotten what that felt like...the power. The knowledge that every single eye in the entire room, the entire city, was on you and gratefully consuming whatever it was that you gave them. Adrenaline scorched his veins like a supernova. God, it hurt so good. He stalked his way down the catwalk, full lips curved into a soft frown, and paused at the end, sticking one hand into his pocket and running the other hand slowly through his spiky hair, tilting his head back just enough to highlight the jagged edges of his profile. He barely even acknowledged the judges, only giving them a cursory sweep with his hawklike gaze, before he turned and made his way back down the catwalk, every step of his black boots fluid with the steady, thumping bass of the music behind him.<br>
<br>
By the time he slipped around backstage, he was completely languid and relaxed, the strangely calming effect of the adrenaline on him like a lulling anesthesia. He'd kick this talent and bonus portion in the teeth, no matter what a wash the rest of the competition might be for him. He'd destroy it...and God, he was gonna sleep good tonight.

<br><br>


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sunday, summer 21st08<br>
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✇ ✇ ✇ ✇ ✇ ✇ ✇ ✇ ✇ ✇ ✇ ✇ ✇ ✇ ✇ ✇ ✇ ✇ ✇ ✇ ✇ ✇ ✇ ✇ ✇<br>
tag;; judges & audience<br>
round;; talent (bonus coming at a later date)<br>
wearing;; click![/align]
<br><br>
Well. This was it, the moment they—or rather he—had been waiting for. Here’s the thing: Abe wasn’t the most handsome of guys out there. Sure, he was okay, maybe falling more on the pretty boy side than ruggedly handsome or whatever ways of describing good looks you had. Even if he wasn’t the ugliest of fools out there, he was level-headed enough to know that he wasn’t the best looking guy on stage tonight. There were guys who had that whole badass thing going, with the scars and everything, like the Fezzik who was smoking earlier, or that Irishman. There were guys who were both good-looking and confident, Wes stealing the show in this department, possibly without even trying. Abe couldn’t really hold candle to these fellas, and he was perfectly okay with this fact, especially when there was a grand finale in the form of a talent portion.<br><br>

If there was one thing Abe could do, it was put on a show. He did it everywhere he went, and tried to add a little theatrics to everything in life. This tired some people, but really the only people, or person, he had to not annoy was Chris, and she was in many ways just as dramatic as he was. His day job, as a scooper for Quickly, was surprisingly easy to work a little flair into. A lot of the times he was serving kids, who appreciated being happily chatted to by the funny purple-haired man behind the counter more than adults did. Usually he didn’t do anything too dramatic, choosing instead to babble amiably while scooping out the extra hard ice cream stuck to the bottom. What, he never knew. He usually made it all up for their entertainment, most of the children in the town probably thought he was Rambo from the stories he told. Abe didn’t need to think too hard to be dramatic while directing, he wasn’t the type to sit idly by and mutter instructions, he had to act it out. Even if it meant pretending to be a woman or an old man.<br><br>

Abraham had sat and thought on what his talent should be for sometime before he finally got inspiration. Admittedly, some of it came from Chris. Her performance from a selection of Chicago inspired him to take his own hometown into account. Growing up in the Windy City, the Big Union, you got a real appreciation for all the drama and fast-paced 1920s stuff, and all that represented Chicago. And what represented Chicago better than vaudeville? He had just put on his jacket, fiddling with his purple bowtie before he heard his name being called. “Abraham Marrow, to the stage!” the stagehand cried, still doing a worse job of it than he had. Abe should really give him tips.<br><br>

He bounced up from his seat, taking the cane that was propped up against his dressed. “Here I come!” he said, waving the cane in the air as he approached the wing.<br><br>

The stagehand and him met eyes, Abe expected him to do... something. Give him a grin or wish him luck. A pep talk would be a bit much, but he enjoyed having some encouragement as much as any. Darnit, if only Chris hadn’t been a judge, she’d be a better stage hand than this guy, he thought. No matter. He could do this, smile or no smile. Abraham’s lips lifted in a smile of his own and he walked out on stage. “Ladies!” he called, clicking his cane against the ground, carefully accenting each footstep. “Gentlemen.” He reached centre-stage, and bowed deeply. “Tonight I present to you an act to wow and amaze—a medley of Vaudville!” If they didn’t know what it was, they would find out soon enough.<br><br>

Musicians, acrobatics, dancing, comedy acts, magic, juggling, acting, freak shows, burlesque! Vaudeville almost literally had it all. There were some things he was, of course, going to brush over for political correctness. Blackface wouldn’t blow over so well nowadays, and with good reason. He had given the stagehands very specific instructions as to their cues, so they probably hated him, but they could do it. Wasn’t that hard. At his words, a piano was rolled out on stage, which he promptly sat down at, brushing the coattails over the seat. “Tonight you folks are going to get a small history lesson,” he began, “but please bear with me, I promise you’ll learn a thing or two and maybe have some fun along the way!” At this he began to play a fairly well-known tune, the Maple Leaf Rag. He had been playing this since his stage days, and when he began to play it again it was like reuniting with an old friend.<br><br>

“Now you see~” he said, well over the sound of the piano. Thank goodness for voice projecting lessons. “Back in the early Twentieth Century, people like you and I couldn’t afford to go see King Lear every weekend like the Vanderbilts or Rockefellers, so instead we came to a vaudeville theatre. You’d get your fill of entertainment, it was like twenty cents for a full evening of entertainment—another reason to complain about those twenty dollar movie tickers, I say.” He paused, playing a particularly difficult part of the song and allowed for the few chuckles to pass before he continued speaking. “And you wouldn’t just have some ragtime, you’d get it all.”<br><br>

At this, a unicycle was rolled on stage. Abe nudged away the chair and sat upon the unicycle, never stopping his song for a second. “So you see, it was like going to the circus—only not quite so many clowns.” He balanced precariously on the unicycle, darn it was hard to stand still on this thing, but he had done it before, so he could do it again. The song ended, and from the speakers in the back, another Scott Joplin tune blared. Abe snatched two bowling pins from the back of the piano, and gripped them tightly in both his hands before beginning to juggle. Being as careful as humanly possible, he moved around the stage, teetering a few times before really striking a balance. “You got your jugglers, ragtime players, acrobatics... some things a little too hot for this stage,” he added, grinning from behind the bowling pins that whirled before him.<br><br>

He was pretty sure he heard Chris’s snort from down the catwalk, which Abe slowly began making his way down. Careful... carefulllll he thought, rolling down it to the pace of the song.<br><br>

Abraham waved briefly at the judges. “Hello ladies!” he greeted, catching his bowling pins and tucking them under his arm. A second of fumbling later, and three white roses shot from his sleeve. Sure, it looked pretty, but those things prickled, goodness! It was like having a porcupine up his sleeve. He tossed the roses their way, grinning amiably at them before rolling his way backwards down the catwalk. “For a long time? It was the heart of American theatre, even if it was considered a little low-class, so what? Baseball was, too, and look where that is today!” he chirped happily, wheeling backwards and juggling a few more times before throwing the pins up so they landed backstage.<br><br>

“And sometimes they even had...” he paused, balancing on his unicycle to wave his six-fingered (not really, but he wasn’t about to grow an extra finger for this thing) “freak shoooows~!” His fake finger flew off into the audience, causing a few people to shriek. Oops! Keeping his cool, Abraham laughed and grinned. “Did I mention comedy was a part of Vaudeville, too?”<br><br>

From the speakers played Sing, Sing, Sing. Abe went a little red, but again kept his wits about him. The stagehands were early on their cue, darnit. He leapt off his unicycle, rolling forward once before he began moving. “And dancing was all the rage—you had foxtrot, Charleston, swing didn’t come until later but of course it’s always been my favourite.” This was one of those times when he wanted Chris up here with him, she was a better dancer for one, and for another swing was about ten times more fun with a partner. No matter, he could do this. He kicked and spun, a permanent grin etched on his face until the song’s end when he slid down the catwalk on his knees, out of breath but giddy beyond belief. “And that’s all folks!” He said, standing and bowing. The applause was freaking invigorating, this just made him long for the stage all the more, goddamit, the show couldn’t come a moment sooner.<br><br>

After his deep bow, Abe waved and back off stage, his many props disappearing with him. He only had a bit to prepare for his bonus round.


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[align=right]Summer 21
Outfit: Charlie's Suit of Win!
Tag!: Judges, Open Book
Round: Sharp Dressed Man[/align]

Chuckling as he stretches his arms behind his head, Charlie makes his way behind the curtain to the backstage area. As far as the blonde is concerned, mission accomplished as far as the swimsuit portion goes. Well, it’s most certainly going to have to qualify as mission accomplished at any rate considering the fact that the aforementioned round is over. Got to think positively about it, right? Not the most impressive physique out of the group, but definitely slightly above average at the very least. Landing the back flip was a good flourish to it too, at least in the blonde’s mind. Worlds better than going and botching the maneuver. Truthfully, if that was the case, the only thing Charlie could probably find himself doing about it would be laughing his head off about it in a means of trying to shrug it off. Something that would make the judges probably think that he’s one nut short of a hibernating squirrel’s banquet. Probably not the most favorable of impressions.

”Thank you, Goddess. Really saved my hide there.”

Feeling better after giving the main lady her share of credit, Charlie makes his way back to his suitcase to prep himself up for his next round of excitement and wonder. That being, formalwear. Formalwear…just the word alone is enough to conjure dozens of ideas in the blonde man’s head. Not one to play dress up by any means, Charlie does find it to be a rather nice change of pace to toss on a nice suit every once in a great while. Break up the boredom of boots, shirt, jeans, and hat, at the very least. True, the shirt color changes from day to day, but still, it’s the principle of the thing. Plus, every girl is crazy about a sharp dressed man. According to ZZ Top, at least. Should apply quite nicely here.

Of course, the true fun of the whole prospect was figuring out just what to wear. True to Charlie’s words in the interview, to him gender roles have more or less gone out the window as he found himself going through the whole dress up process before figuring out just what he was going to cast his lot with for formalwear. Rhinestones would have certainly been an interesting choice. Unique. Old school. But also there was the risk that they could be seen as cheesy and out of style. After all, there is a fine line between retro and out of style. Considering the fact that Charlie’s knowledge of the judges was that at least two of them were teenagers was enough to lead the blonde to decide against the shiny stone suit. Could have went with the mysterious stranger look too. Something like Phantom of the Opera or Zorro, but covering his face up with a mask seems more in place with a masquerade ball than what is technically a male beauty pageant.

So, after many trial and error experiments with various wardrobes, Charlie was able to narrow it down to what would be the ensemble for the evening. Maybe not the most unique thing in the closet, but it has enough unique design to it to keep it from being boring at the very least. Plus it does give him the added benefit of wearing a hat with it. Ah yes, the hat. Thinking about the headwear, Charlie finds himself chuckling. It is rather ironic, after all. Until he got in the Peace Corps, Charlie never was one for wearing hats. But they do a rather nice job of keeping his front bangs out of his face and the sun from mercilessly frying his face up like bacon on a skillet. The days of sunburned noses and cheeks are something that the man is happy are a thing of the past.

”Plus, from what everybody tells you about it, you look really good in a hat.” Charlie thinks to himself. ”Not that the opinion of others is going to sway me one way or the other, but it is nice to know that I’m not the only one that enjoys me wearing the thing.”

Finished thinking about his head and it’s coverings for the time being, the rancher goes through the process of dressing. Something that goes along fairly simple considering the fact that he’s changing right from the swimsuit segment. Socks, black slacks, belts. Well, lower body taken care of for the most part. The shoes though could use a little attention. Grabbing a small bottle of polish from his suitcase, the blonde goes about the task of buffing out the small scratches that are on the metal portions of the shoes. Metal on formal shoes. Certainly a unique aspect, but tricky as the shine will be a pain to keep up. Don’t drag your feet and make sure nobody steps on your shoes. Two things that are easy enough to do, right?

“Perfect!”

Polished so well that he is able to use them as miniature mirrors, Charlie grins at his reflection in his footwear before slipping them on the appropriate extremities. They’re not the most comfortable things to wear, to be sure, but thankfully it’s not like they’re going to be wearing these things for hours and hours on end. Unless somebody’s talent is ballroom dancing or something along those lines. At the thought of ballroom dancing, the blonde haired rancher finds himself chuckling as he is oddly visualizing Craig doing it. Hard to believe with a man that size, but certainly not out of the realm of possibilities. Wouldn’t be the strangest thing that Charlie has seen. Besides, it isn’t exactly like Charlie and Craig are best friends that know everything about each other. Not yet, at least. The rate that they’re going though it would only seem like a matter of time to the rancher.

Speaking of Craig though…very nice. While Charlie had been thinking of it as being a formalwear type of thing, it definitely does seem that Big Man is living up to the whole “Free For All Fashion” bit of it. Commando outfit certainly should reap the fella some points. Not elegant, graceful, or dashing looking by any means, but it is definitely unique and Craig keeping true to who he is. Smiling and nodding to his friend, the blonde notices that he probably didn’t pay it any mind as he seems to be preoccupied with something in his hand…dog tags, right? Hard to tell from this distance, but it’s a definite possibility. Too many to be all his own, so odds are that the man’s carrying his friends’ spirits with him today. Nice way to pay tribute to them. Granted, Charlie’s in it to win it, but if he has to be beaten by anyone, he certainly couldn’t think of anyone better than Craig. Although that Irish dude has been fairly entertaining thus far too.

And then there’s that Wes guy. In between rounds, Charlie can’t help but notice the fact that he seems to be sizing the blonde up. Well, maybe not sizing him up, but giving him some not so friendly looks, at least. Even though some of the guy’s answers came off as what could be called sleazy, Charlie finds himself just smiling and nodding every time Rooster Boy gives him that look. Probably not as big of a love hound as he comes off as, so no reason to be hostile with the guy. Hasn’t done anything to oppress Charlie yet, anyways. Probably just best to focus on his own affairs rather than to ask him what the deal with the looks is.

”Although, if he does somehow wind up winning this thing and treats that Chris gal in a less than gentlemanly manner, he probably will have problems with my cousin.” Charlie thinks with a chuckle. ”He does seem to be growing rather fond of her, after all.”

Getting back to the matter at hand, Charlie quickly buttons up his shirt and puts on his vest. Next up on the list to dressing success…the tie. Oh boy, these wonderful little things. While Charlie does enjoy the occasional dress up, he can safely say that he’s never really enjoyed the whole wearing ties bit. They look fine and all, but the feeling of something choking you…that’s not so fine, really. Granted, one doesn’t have to tie one to the point of cutting off circulation or anything like that, but just the concept of having a makeshift noose around his neck…maybe it’s a type of claustrophobia? Well, moot point now as the tie is secure around the blonde’s neck now. Thankfully this won’t have to be a fashion statement for too long.

Happy to have the creepy neckwear part done and over with, Charlie stands up from his bench and throws his overcoat on. Not too heavy, not boring looking. Yeah, this will do quite nicely. And now, for the finishing touch: a wee bit of customization! Humming happily to himself as he rummages about through his suitcase, the man emerges a few moments later with a pocket watch and a sliver chain. Attaching one end to his belt and the other to the watch, Charlie tucks it away in his pocket. The watch isn’t really necessary, but if you’re going to use a watch chain, may as well have the dang watch to go along with it. Next up, a pair of fingerless brown gloves. Not as dandy as white gloves would be, but hey, the leather color of the gloves and his shoes matches. Plus, Bucky told him it looked “cool.” Who is Charlie to argue with teenage opinion?

“Charlie Collins! You’re up!”

Well, time to go. Smiling and nodding to the assistant, Charlie grabs the last piece of his clothing puzzle out of the case: A simple black fedora. Like anybody expected him to go out there without a hat. That’d be like John Wayne doing a western without his hat. Or an elected official going out to give a speech without a pair of pants. It just doesn’t work. Grinning at the all too familiar feel of something resting on his head, Charlie makes his way out to the stage again for the third time this afternoon.

“Into the spotlight once again…” Charlie says quietly to himself as he looks at the judges and the happy audience. Well, at least everybody is looking like they are having a good time. Good thing too. Considering the way that he’s dressed, if the crowd was a little more on the riotous side, it would be a heck of a trick to make an escape. Of course, they could settle for throwing stuff too, but thankfully that shouldn’t be an issue. Probably not anyways. Anyways, time to strut his stuff. Which really just consists of walking about nonchalantly showing off his fancy threads. Feeling content with the amount of spotlight he’s sucked up, the blonde walks to the judges, pulling the watch out of his pocket.

“My, my. Look at the time! Suppose it’d be nice of me to let somebody else have a turn, hmm?” Charlie asks with a smile before putting the watch back in his pocket. Figuring it would be rude to simply walk away, Charlie takes the fedora off his head, holds it to his heart, and bows his head. “I shall see you all during the talent portion, I suppose. Have fun, ladies!”

Lifting his head and putting the fedora back on his head, Charlie quickly whips off his overcoat and slings it over his shoulder before walking to the back. About a few feet away from the curtain, the blonde extends his free arm to give the judges and crowd a thumbs up before disappearing behind the curtain. Hopefully that bit comes off as smooth. If not, oh well. At the very least he tried. Now the only thing to worry about is if Bucky and Russell have been able to set up things for the round o’ talent…
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Kel94 ♪
This looks like a job for....
Mayor
Wes Nibai
"Allow me to attempt to dazzle you"
-------------------------------------------------------

This would not go well. It was inevitable that he was going to fail. Wes was certain of it. He actually probably wouldn't do to horrible. He'd been practicing like crazy. Even now, holding the guitar in his hands, his fingers were itching to play. They had to, they were begging! No, had to go over all the scales, had to check all the strings. Make sure it was tuned and in tip top shape. Everything checked out so far. Nothing to fear....yet. The purple haired man could hear the piano player even back here. Wow, that had this round in the bag. To go up after that...it would be challenging.

But lucky for him, he had a whole slew of songs to play. All from a memory of playing an old game system as a kid. Maybe being born into a rich family wasn't so bad. Soon, the music stopped and it was Wes's time to shine. Oh god, please let it be fast. Taking a deep breath, he waited, and finally his name was called. Stepping onto the stage, he could see a microphone and a chair place perfectly at the end of the catwalk. This time though, he was completely calm. Taking on a stoic face, he walked down the walk, guitar hanging from his back. Nodding to the judges, Wes sat down, sliding the instrument to his front. "Good..evening. Tonight...I'll be playing a few songs...that some of you might now. Might now. Please enjoy" he said into the microphone. The audience clapped politely.

And now, for Song one. This one was his favorite. It had taken him a while to find the sheet music, but he manged. This bit was short, so he instantly moved onto Song two. (((No, he's not that good. Just average. But enjoy the music anyway))) This song was probably one of his favorites. And it was a bit longer than the last. All in good time. He had three important people to impress. Song three had a more melodic tune to it. Another favorite, indeed. His fingers flew across the guitar, plucking and strumming with ease. Funny, he was a better guitarist than farmer. The final song wasn't as great as the others, but it was nice anyway. And that was that. The final note was strung, and his performance was over. Standing up, Wes took a bow, which made the audience clap and cheer louder than before.

A few moments later, he was back behind stage. That actually wasn't so bad. He just...lost himself in the music. But surely other guys would do better than him. It certainly didn't hurt to try though.

(((I couldn't think of any other music for him to play. Hope that was okay.)))
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People say you've been talking, you got a big mouth. Saying words you know aren't true, what the hell are you talking about? So now we have a conundrum, and the problem is clearly you. This is the part where it gets ugly, and the solution getting rid of you. You'll never be safe in the shadows, I'll be waiting in the dark. With a shovel and a bag full of lime, and I'll say the devil made me do it.
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Alison Summers ♪
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All Hail the Crimson King
Mayor
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<br>The Goodman Sisters Liz and Jill
<br>Summer 21, 08
<br>3:00ish
<br>Relaxed and enjoying themselves
<br>Tag: Wes Nibai || Open
<br>

<br><br><br>Lizzy listened to the music from Wes’ guitar with interest. She had been looking forward to the talent round all night and now that Wes was finally on stage and playing she wasn’t disappointed. The music was good considering he had only been playing for such a short amount of time. In fact she found herself really enjoying the selections that he had chosen even though she didn’t know the source. They were actually pretty catchy and she was pretty impressed with how talented Wes was. If he kept practicing he could become good, very good even. Of course she certainly wasn’t a music critic but she knew what she liked and she liked what Wes was playing.
<br><br>
As the songs finished and Wes took his bow Lizzy began to clap. He had done well. Good for him. She certainly wouldn’t have been able to do anything like that. She would have never been able to work up the courage. It was good that he had been able to though because she could imagine that it probably hadn’t been easy for him. As the claps and cheers began to get louder for the guitarist Lizzy unconscientiously began to clap a little faster and louder as if she thought that by clapping harder he might be able to hear her.
<br><br>
Beside her though sat someone who had another way in mind to be heard. Jillian who had been sitting rather calmly and quietly with respect to her sister’s wishes to not embarrass her friend during the competition now clapped enthusiastically. She couldn’t just sit there and be all quiet and calm after that performance like her sister was doing. Sure she hadn’t been able to bring any signs or posters or find any other way to support Wes but she could give him a few extra cheers to boost his confidence. “Woo! Yeah Wes way to knock ‘em dead! Hot stuff right there ladies!”
She yelled after the retreating Wes as she stood up from the crowd to make sure that she was noticed.
<br><br>
Lizzy snapped her head around as soon as she heard her younger sister’s voice. What was she doing? Jill had agreed not to do something brash and embarrass Wes more than he probably already was. Grabbing her sister’s arm Lizzy began to pull Jill back into her seat. She managed to get the young girl down and gave her a quick slap to the back of the head. “Ouch! What was that for?” Asked the brown haired teen. Lizzy ignored the protest and settled back down in her seat. She knew exactly what she had done. This was definitely the last time she brought Jill out to one of these events.

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Alma
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That's the machine that goes 'PING!'
Villagers
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Outfit: Black t-shirt, blue jeans and black tennis shoes<br>
Mood: Excited.<br>
TAG: Judges~ || Talent! || Bonus coming in separate post at a later date<br>
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<br>


After the first few contestants completed their talent rounds, there was a great surge of activity as stagehands crowded onto the stage, each of them carrying large stands of sorts. Yet another one appeared to be judging the distance of the judges and the first row of the audience from the stage itself. Overall, it was a great flow of frenzied activity that, unlike backstage, didn't seem to be flowing well at all. "Fer Christ's sakes..." A soft, male voice from the back of the crowd threw in his opinion in those three words before he began making his way down the aisle of chairs, crossing himself absently as he did so. A few of the stagehands seemed to grow nervous by this, as if wondering if he should be allowed to approach the stage as he was, but the one in charge ushered them back to their positions with a quickly moving hand. Patrick nodded to the head stagehand gratefully, having spoken to him earlier about his twin brother's talent. It could be potentially quite dangerous, though Patrick was incredibly pleased by the fact that this island didn't seem to worry about things like waivers or lawyers. Ronan wasn't gonna screw up, after all. Ten years of experience made that almost impossible.<br>
<br>
Almost. Patrick glanced over his shoulder at the crowd as well before nodding in satisfaction and snagging a stagehand by the arm. "Tell 'em ta set 'em up on the opposite side, aye?" The stagehand nodded and gathered together all of the others, each of them shifting a stand so that it would be facing the audience instead of away from them.<br>
<br>
Patrick became rather awkwardly aware of the silence among the audience, minus the murmurs that came here and there, and realized that the long set-up time of the process could prove incredibly boring and possibly detrimental to his brother's score. "..." And that someone randomly charging the stage like that might look more like a hostile takeover than anything else. "......" Well. Nothing to be done. After being sure that the stagehands were moving quickly and efficiently now, as if the mere presence of Patrick inspired order, he turned to face the crowd.<br>
<br>
"G'afternoon ta ye, lads an' lasses," he intoned, trying his hardest not to fidget or appear nervous. He wasn't the talker. Ronan was. While Ronan charmed away, Patrick stood in the back and did whatever dirty work his twin was supposed to be distracting the others from. Patrick shoved his hands into his pockets and tilted his head to the side, shifting from one foot to the other. "I'm Patrick Brennan, an' I thought...I might as well be the one ta introduce me brother's talent ta ye." The stagehands were bringing out very large targets now, trying to place each one evenly on the stands without risk of them falling off. "Nothin' more fascinatin' ta me brother than those rituals ye might see in distant African villages about becomin' a man." All right. Time to talk out of his a**. He was semidecent at this, at least. "Always gave 'im a thrill, aye? Didn't surprise me one bit when he came home from town one day an' informed Ma that he wanted ta learn how ta use weapons."<br>
<br>
A cursory glance over his shoulder told him that things were nearing complete. "Nothin' filled 'im with more confidence than learnin' how ta use that brute force somewhere deep down inside o' him fer somethin' more graceful, y'know? Became a hell of a shot too." He cleared his throat, scanning his eyes over the crowd. "So he's gonna step up here today an' give ye all a demonstration o' these skills o' his. ...erm, thank ye." To the sound of applause, he stumbled off of the stage and made his way back to his seat, hoping that no one noticed him blushing like a little girl. F**king hell.<br>
<br>
Ronan, meanwhile, swept out of the backstage area, clad in the black t-shirt, loose blue jeans, and black tennis shoes he wore earlier during the questionnaire. Strangely enough, he wore his holsters on his hips, but there was no guns in them. Instead, there were two slender blades, though the audience might only get the ability to see the hilt. "Thanks ta me brother Patrick fer that stirrin' introduction!" He gestured grandly to his brother, letting out a hearty laugh when his brother merely lifted his hand to flick him off over his shoulder. The crowd still clapped politely, however, and Ronan reached up to drag his hand through his hair, moving it away from his eyes.<br>
<br>
This part was the piece of cake, really, as interesting as it might seem for the crowd watching. After all, he'd truly done this for years, though Patrick was kind enough to stick to the histories that they made out for each other once they left Ireland. While part of that had been true, they'd had to leave out the more...choice parts. Y'know, like when he and Patrick gutted countless mafia bosses. While he'd grown more familiar with a gun during times like that, he was no stranger to the feel of a knife in his palm either.<br>
<br>
He also couldn't help but assume that many of the individuals would be doing musical acts for their talent. At least Ronan would be unique, right? He bowed to the crowd's applause and straightened up, at the same time pulling out the blade with an audible 'shing!' to the sound of a few gasps. "THIS," he began, tracing the blade lightly through the air with a smirk to the crowd. "Lads an' lasses, is a knife. Fine as they come. Light an' flexible," Ronan paused to slash it through the air in an almost practiced maneuver, one that had served him very well when it came to incapacitating another armed opponent with a slice across the wrist and a jagged stab to the stomach. "An' at the same time, as deadly as ye'd expect." A stagehand appeared then and held out a piece of paper, and Ronan turned to pull the recently sharpened knife through it, the pulp easily giving way beneath the blade with very little force from Ronan himself. "What ye're about ta see here..." He looked toward the crowd with a little wink as the stagehand hurried away, possibly to wet himself with worry about how this could go so horribly wrong. "Don't ye try this at home. Or anywhere else, fer that matter."<br>
<br>
He whirled around suddenly to put his back to the audience, sending the knife flying to the sound of a few gasps from the crowd, and a loud 'thud!" sounded. If people looked toward where he was gesturing with the arm he'd thrown the blade with, still leaning forward in that very position, they'd see the knife had flown almost directly into the center of the target. There was a moment of stunned silence before applause burst out, and he turned to bow to the audience as he backed toward the target. "Looks easy, aye? Child's play, ye say?" A swift pull freed the blade from the target, and he chuckled. "Ye haven't seen anythin' yet."<br>
<br>
Two stagehands appeared, one on stage left and the other on stage right after he seized a target from one of the stands. "Isn't any sport in hittin' a stationary target, ye say? Well, guess what." He winked coyly. "I totally agree with ye." He turned to put his back to the audience again just as the stagehand sent the target rolling haphazardly across the stage. A few calculated gestures, and Ronan swung down onto one knee as he let the blade slice through the air at the same time. It flew steady and true, piercing the target only slightly off-center now, though still very obviously in the bleeding red center circle. The crowd applauded again, the other stagehand catching the target and waiting patiently as Ronan sauntered over and tugged the blade out of there as well.<br>
<br>
"Sometimes, ye don't even have time ta think-" He cut off suddenly, turning to the side to send the blade cutting through the air and stabbing into another target, stabbing nearly directly into the center again. "Before ye gotta react!" He laughed, though he caught Patrick's eye on the back row just in time to see his twin telling him to wrap it up. Only a certain amount of time per talent, of course, and if one went too long they risked losing the audience's attention as it was. Right. Best to make this end now, then, before he got a little frenzied and someone lost an eye. "An' sometimes ye gotta move quick-" He paused in front of the last target, pulling out the much longer knife out of the other holster to draw in quick, jagged movements over the fabric of the last target. When he suddenly dropped down into a defensive squat, one hand up as if to catch the punch of an opponent and his knifing arm outstretched to stab, he posed so that the crowd would realize that drawn in the target's fabric was a wide, messy "R". "If yer gonna get yer name in the stars."<br>
<br>
The crowd burst into applause at that moment and he laughed again, this time much more heartily, as he came to his feet and bowed dramatically to the crowd. "ALL RIGHT THERE, RAMBO!" The shout from the back of the crowd meant that Patrick was gonna get pantsed tonight, but hey, that was all part of the fun. Ronan rose from his bow with a smirk, granting the crowd a wide salute before he collected his smaller knife still in the next to last target and headed backstage. There. Let's see the rest try to beat that.



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Kel94 ♪
This looks like a job for....
Mayor
Aqua Avon & Leon Uno-Cinco
"We're screwed big time, man" "Great, can I go home now?"
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Oh great, freaking great. There was no way, no way in freaking hell that Aqua could possibly pull off anything after those performances. Piano, guitar, knife throwing?! Impossible, virtually impossible. He felt like crying. It was hopeless. Absolutely hopeless. And to think, the crowd was getting a special treat a whole season early! Something he did only every other three years. But no, oh no. Not gonna happen. Not with these guys pulling off stunts like that. "I...don't believe it" he groaned, forehead bumping into a wall, spikes swaying. "I know right? That was wicked!" Leon exclaimed beside him, head poked out to see Ronan's bit. "That guy was fantastic!". Aqua's head lifted to stare at this blue headed new friend. "Lee, don't you realize what this means? At all?" he asked. The blue head shook, hair dancing. "It means we're done. My talent and yours combined wouldn't even save us from second place!". Leon's jaw dropped, shocked at his words. "So...does that mean...." "Yeah man, its over. I'm gonna go sit in the crowd with my deaf roommate" he said, walking over to collect his stuff.

No, no, no! It wasn't going to end like this! "Oh no you don't!" Leon cried, pulling the other boy back. "Hey man, I owe you one. Let me help you, anyway I can" he asked, blue eyes blazing with intensity. "Those last guys did a twin act, so why not us?". Aqua only blinked. "I....don't know, man. My act...it might not go so well". "Whatever! I don't care what it is! I'll do it!" Leon declared. Yeah, he was a man! And men didn't let their buds fall. Not one little bit! A smile, somewhat devious smile spread across Aqua's face. "Well, if you insist. I'll go get everything set up" "What about me?" "Um...go wash your hair. Save me the trouble of wetting it down later". Wait, what? Exactly what did Aqua have in store for him? Shrugging it off, Leon went around until he found a sink. In a matter of minutes, his head was soaking wet, his hair looking darker than normal.

And just in time to. "And now, for a double team play off! We have the 'artistic' talents of Aqua Avon with assistance from Leon Uno-Cinco" the Mayor boomed over the microphone. Turning the faucet off, he jogged over to where Aqua stood in front of the curtain, a small bag tucked under his arm. "Come on out, boys!". The duo pushed out into the open, greeted by cheers and claps. A sign flew up in the crowd, Aqua's name written on it. Ooh, someone had a fan. Aqua blushed a little, smiling as Aspen's sign went up. Oh, sweet girl she is! Making their way down the catwalk, they found a single chair and a small table. A microphone sat on its stand, shining in the limelight. Aqua got to it first, and the nights plans were revealed. "Gooooooood evening, everyone! I'm Aqua," "And I'm Leon" "And we're getting a free haircut!'. "Wait, we are?" "Well...okay fine. you are". Wait, WHAT?! He was going to do what to who know?

Suddenly, a hand flew by and pushed Leon into the chair, a large apron draped around him. "Hey, I never agreed to this!" "I don't care what it is. I'll do it" Aqua quoted him, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Look, sit back relax, and enjoy the show". 'Easy for you to say' Leon thought miserably as his friend spoke back into the microphone. "Alright, first off, its not much of a talent. But its the only thing I'm good at. I only ever do it on myself, so this should be fun". The microphone was returned to its stand, sitting there without a care in the world. Oh god, what was happening? Leon jumped as the sound of scissors clipped loudly in his ears. It didn't help much that the crowed oohed in fascination. A few loud snickers came from behind him. Oh yeah, everyone had to be watching this! Only thing to do now was close his eyes and hope for the best.

"Don't be a baby, I'm sure it won't turn out so bad" Aqua reassured him, giving the other boy's hair the first snip. Then the second, and the third. The clipping was endless! He was pretty sure some gel or something was put in there to. Maybe he should have picked his friends a little bit more carefully. He heard constant laughs and giggles from the crowd, and some from the back. This was cruel and unusual punishment. It had to be. After what seemed like an eternity, it stopped. Oh thank god, it stopped! But why was the crowd cheering so weirdly. "Alright, you can look now" Aqua announced happily, handing him a mirror. "It came out better than I thought it would!". He was almost to afraid to lift the mirror to his face, but sucked it up last second. What he saw after that, blew his mind out. His moppy blue hair was now neatly trimmed into little sharp ends that seemed to be sweeping to the side. He probably would have liked it, if not for that fact the ends of his hair was dyed a hot pink color!

"See, I wanted to dye myself, but these great locks hold only the color black" Aqua explained, running a hand along a spike. "And no, I wasn't going to dye it pink. But it works for you". No words came from Leon, just a gust of air. What...in...the....world was he THINKING! "Pink! My hair is pink!" he screamed, facing the other boy. "Yeah, and its gorgeous!". He only received a angry glare back. "How long does it take to get out?" "About....a few seasons". "A few season!" Leon shrieked, his voice echoing loudly. Turning around, they saw that the microphone was still on, and that they were still onstage. The boys only stared out in shock. Finally, Aqua spoke out. "And uh that's it for us! I have to go run from the angry dude next to me. Aspen, I love you, baby! Best roomie ever! See you at home!" he screamed that last part. Then was gone, racing down the catwalk, Leon barley being able to catch up with him. That little.....god he was fast!

(((Here's Leon's new do. Made it myself a month or so back. Just a visual idea of what has happened)))
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People say you've been talking, you got a big mouth. Saying words you know aren't true, what the hell are you talking about? So now we have a conundrum, and the problem is clearly you. This is the part where it gets ugly, and the solution getting rid of you. You'll never be safe in the shadows, I'll be waiting in the dark. With a shovel and a bag full of lime, and I'll say the devil made me do it.
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