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"LET MY DISCLAIMING FROM A purposed evil free me so far in your most generous thoughts, that I have shot mine arrow over--"

"Cut cut, CUT!" yells Mrs Lydia Schroeder at the top of her bass voice, making the entire crew cringe into invisible shells. Her arms are flailing and the clipboard frisbees out of her hold.

A curly haired ginger girl scurries towards the direction of the clipboard's landing as fucks, damns and hells fly out of her mouth in subdued hisses.

"It's o'er, Leroi. Ho-heer." Lydia's mouth wriggles in cherry lipstick. "You eliminate the 'v', gosh what's gotten into you today?"

"I'm sorry. 'Twas a twist of my tongue." Leroi lazily scratches the cuff of the blouse, mumbling censored profanities that Lydia cannot hear.

Chewing the insides of his cheek and blocking out what the irate drama teacher is saying, Leroi's exhausted eyes run across the theatre. His joints are so sore, his mouth is drier than a seventy-year-old vagina, the back of his tongue is acrid and there's a migraine BDSM-ing his cerebral folds..

After Charles and Maurice left his house, Sandman made sure he barely had an ounce of his precious nap dust till the brink of dawn. Heaven knows it wasn't up to forty minutes till Kaolin came staring at his face.

Painting Kaolin's face with puke is just Leroi body's reflexive way of revenge for the rude awakening.

"You don't only memorize the script Slayberry, you become the script!" She turns to her redhead assistant. "Write that down, Rosalinde. Everybody needs to get this or else I'll certainly blow a fuse."

I think you've blown more already.

Speaking of Kaolin, why is that slut stalking him around? thinks Leroi as he shoots glares of daggers on point X; Purvis' forehead. It takes all in him to remove his heated stare from the blonde sophomore and to Lydia's face.

Nobody dares snub this woman.

"He looks like a train ran over him, more than once!"

Kaolin who's busy indenting his jotter and trying his best to ignore Purvis Walker clinging to his frame of mind sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. "Who?"

"The captain."

The hazel-eyed boy tugs at the ropes holding the stage curtains to test their strength. "Jack Sparrow?" he asks with a small smile, causing Purvis to burst in dry laughter.

"Like oh my glob," he manages to say between fake fits of hysteria, "you're so funny, Kaolin." Purvis slyly drops his hand on Kaolin's shoulder. "Really funny."

"Don't. Touch. Me."

"Oh, okay." Purvis chuckles with another hand over his mouth. He doesn't uproot his hand but drags it away. "But no, Jack Sparrow is dead. It's Leroi."

Kaolin's brows reflexively jump at the name and he turns to meet Leroi's gaze across the theatre and into his soul. Then his heartbeat follow suit, especially when Leroi shyly glances away, folding a stray curl behind his ear.

Even with lavender eyebags like scrotums bordering Leroi's eyelids and his afro amoebic, deficient of a comb, he still manages to look beautiful in Kaolin's eyes. The dress blouse Hamlet [Leroi] is wearing is a little too small, enhancing the delectability of Leroi's sudden fat spurt. The shiny tights are hugging his ass just perfectly and accentuating all the curves Kaolin will like to paint with whipped cream and run his tongue over--

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