'Tis the season to be scary

Here's where I shamelessly promote our new story, Dubious Relations, which is a hysterical Round Robin fic in which Muffin Lady 0o wrote the fist chapter and I the second. We will have Michelle and Morgan writing also. It rocks the universe. Go read it.

Nita tapped her foot impatiently on the floor, smiling slightly at the loud clacking noise the gaudy pumps produced as they made contact with the wood.

…Not that the whole foot tapping scenario was exactly new, seeing as she'd been doing it for the last thirty seven minutes whilst waiting for a certain buddy to remove himself from the bathroom and stop acting like a pansy.

"Kit! Hur—

"Nita, if you tell me to hurry up one more time, so help me I'll—

"Come OUT and inflict your terrible punishment?" Nita asked, a hopeful lilt in working its way into her voice at the end.

"No need," answered Kit, his tone entirely too smug for Nita's liking.

"Then what, dare I ask, shall the boy who takes more than half an hour to put on a cape and fangs do to me that is so horrific.

"I'm not being a vampire," Kit sounded horrified at the very thought, "But I'll shout nasty things whilst simultaneously pelting you with 'Mela's curlers." Nita could just hear the 'so there' finishing the boy's pathetic revelation.

Nita sighed and lifted her ankle to resume the foot tapping, much to the floor's displeasure, when she was rather rudely interrupted.

"Cease tapping, I'm armed."

"Ooooh," Nita mocked, "With curlers?"

"Yes," Kit responded smugly, as if she should indeed be very afraid.

"The fluffy ones?" she asked, a fake tremble in her voice.

"Indeed." He answered triumphantly.

Nita laughed, she couldn't help it. Kit had to be the only teenage boy that she'd met who thought that one should be afraid of his sister's curlers.

Dairine walked about from around the corner. She adjusted her Darth Vader mask with her plastic light-saber and looked approvingly at Nita's costume.

"Mrs. Ross, nice." She nodded appreciatively.

"Thanks," Nita replied, looking down at her rather horrid skirt, "I thought you'd approve."

Dairine nodded and spoke again, her voice muffled through her plastic mask, "Have you seen Roshaun?"

Nita shook her head, "No, I haven't actually. Though I'd ask King Pansy before you send out a search party."

Dairine nodded, "KIT—

"I love how you automatically assume that it's me she's referring to," he responded dryly from behind the door.

Dairine grinned, "But of course."

"Cease mocking, I'm armed."

She scoffed, "Because I'm terrified of your sister's hair curlers."

"Why is nobody properly afraid of these things?!" Kit exploded, "She throws them at me, and they hurt, man! How is she scarier than I am when provided with hair products?"

"Your sister has played softball for six years, you play soccer. Remind me to be afraid when you start punting them out the door—

"I would, too," he muttered darkly.

"I'm sure you would," Dairine answered, Nita could tell that Kit would be bristling at her condescending tone, "Now can you tell me where Roshaun is?"

"I'm tying his cape, which has a knot in it, after I silenced him," Kit replied.

"Alrighty then, the trick-or-treaters will be here any minute though, then we head out." Dairine finished.

Nita sighed, "Aren't we getting too old for this? I mean—

"NEVER! Do not let such accursed words pass your lips!

Nita rolled her eyes and sat down, her back against the wall thinking of just how ridiculous this whole scenario was. Her teenage sister was adjusting her shiny black cape which she had chosen to wear this year 'for old time's sake,' her even older wizardry counterpart was having a boy younger than him fixing his own cape, her best friend was threatening them with a painful Death By Hair Curler and actually expected them to take him seriously.

And as for her…

Well, she was dressed in the most nauseating outfit to ever grace the earth as she imitated the psycho librarian's fashion trends.

Carmela sauntered around the corner from the living room and cringed.

"Oh, Nita honey," she moaned while fixing her Oprah wig, "It hurts, that outfit is actually causing me physical pain. I thought I taught you better than that."

Nita laughed in a morbid way, "No, I'm Mrs. Ross."

Her eyes widened in realization, "Wow, nice job. You're shoes aren't quite obnoxious enough though."

"I know," said Dairine, finally satisfied with her costume, "I think that's truly the only costume that's actually scared me sense I ran into a Dracula when I was five."

Well, thought Nita ironically, at least our librarian is fit to terrify little children…

"What's taking the boys so long?" asked Carmela.

"I don't know, the cape should have been tied by now," answered Dairine.

"Kit you pansy, what's taking you so long?!" shouted Carmela at the now veritably famous bathroom door, going directly to the source.

A pink curler flew out of a crack in the door.

Carmela dodged it with practiced ease.

"What is everyone's fixation with insulting my masculinity today?!" he cried, exasperated.

"Are you done yet?" repeated Carmela, ignoring him and going for an answer.


"And why not?"

"We can't get his hair to stay mussed up," answered Roshaun.

"I don't see why it needs to be," she heard Kit grumble.

"Because, it doesn't work otherwise. It's like paying your grandmother to do your homework." Another voice as of yet unheard answered testily.

"Ronan?" asked Carmela.

"Sadly yes."

"What are you doing here," she asked, seeming much less annoyed Nita noted.

There was a long suffering sigh, "We lost a bet with Carl. We'll be out in a minute."

"That man has a twisted sense of humor," muttered Kit darkly, before crying out in pain. "Watch it!"

Nita turned to Carmela, then to Dairine.

"Should we be worried?" her sister asked.

"Yes," answered Carmela.

They sat for a few moments each pondering what the effects of said bet could possibly be.

"Maybe they have to dress as a bad eighties hair band." Dairine guessed.

"Or a princess," Nita added.

"Or the worst of the worst," Carmela grinned.

"What would that be?" asked Dairine.

"The Teletubies."

Nita smiled slightly at the mental image of Kit dressed as the purple felt monster.

"Are you done, now?" asked Carmela, in slight alarm at the violent noises coming from with in the little room.

There was a particularly loud crash and they heard Ronan shriek in full terror.

"No, we're not, we're going to be in here all night so you might as well leave with out us," cried Kit.

Nita stared at Carmela in confusion, or what she hoped was confusion, it was rather hard to control her face with that much make up.

They listened to the boys argue amongst themselves, and Nita was about so suggest taking Kit's advice…

But was rudely interrupted by Kit, who was unceremoniously shoved out the door. He landed in a heap on the ground before them.

The words died on her lips as they lapsed into a stunned silence.

Nita could feel her mouth hanging open but couldn't summon the energy to close it. All thought was focused on one thing and one thing only.

"…Kit?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"Yeah?" he muttered, glaring at her as if to say 'not a word'.

"…What are you?"

He fixed his round glasses and continued to glare, before answering.

"I'm a wizard."

The silence returned, enveloping everything and everyone in the thick folds of the now familiar blanket of Awkwardness. All they could do was stare, Kit challenging them to say a thing.

They probably would have suffocated under it's thick presence too, if it wasn't thrown off by Carmela breaking down in laughter.

The other's followed suit.

"A Hispanic Harry Potter! HA!" Carmela giggled, "Now all we need is a gangsta Ron."

Kit continued to glare, geeky glasses perched on nose, poorly drawn lightning bolt Sharpie-d across his forehead never to come off for at least a week. His sweater vest slightly askew and his cloak with the Gryffindor iron-on at the top right corner. It was a self respecting teenaged male's nightmare.

He looked as if he were about to try and hang himself with his tie.

Another body was shoved out, though this one more graceful than the former and able to stay on his own feet.

Nita stared in shock at Roshaun, in all of his saggy pants, untucked shirt glory, as he attempted to straighten out the red wig on his head.

He sat there amiably, seemingly unruffled as he held up his too large pants.

"Wait," Carmela noted, finally regaining enough breath to speak, "Where's Ronan?"

"Yes, Ronan," Kit called darkly, "come on out."

Ronan sighed and did so.

The blanket was back with all of it's blanket buddies throwing an impromptu blanket party where they all joined forces and let out obscene amounts of Awkwardness.

They all lapsed into a stunned silence as Ronan stepped forward to stand next to the other two not so manly men.

He smoothed his skirt and shook the tendrils of the frizzy wig away from his eyes.

"Ronan?" asked Carmela in disbelief.

Ronan didn't look up, he did anything he could to avoid it. He fixed his knee socks, which didn't come all the way up to his skirt revealing an inch or so of hairy leg. He fixed his sweater vest across the chest he somehow developed in the past hour. He fixed his own Gryffindor scarf across his neck.

"Ronan?" asked Carmela again, concern saturating her voice.

Ronan sighed dejectedly and poked at his fake bosom in rebellion.

A piece of tissue fell from under his shirt, skittering across the floor landing in a crumpled pile at Nita's fee

I'm sorry, they should just take away my computer to keep me from mangling these poor characters. Um, yeah, self explanatory, not my best, but it wouldn't leave me alone. Please go review Death by Chocolate too, I'm only two freaking reviews away from thrity which will be my first time ever hitting thirty reviews with a oneshot. I'll add you to my still growing list of Valentines if you do…