This happened at a convention ‘bout a month ago, but I never got around to posting it. It’s written like a story ‘cuz I felt like doing so. It will be in parts so it doesn’t look as long….
I shift impatiently attempting to balance my wait equally on my feet, as, only halfway through this bloody long line, my legs are just about to collapse under my (not that I’m flattering myself) on no account considerable, bulk. I can only console myself with the fact that i am not the (incredibly cute) boy in front of me, who, aside from being about 5 foot 8, is also decked out in a full set of clone armour. He’s removed his helmet so that the group of girls in front of him (and admittedly also myself), have a full view of his handsome face.
His friend is also kinda cute, though under the long blond wig and elf ears it’s a little hard to discern his true features. I can tell he’s a redhead though. The contrast of his eyebrows to his wig is quite startling.
Eventually one of the girls, after much tittering and laughter, breaks from her gaggle of friends and makes her way to the elven/clonetrooper contingent. It’s obvious she’s meant to be Dawn, but she appears to be under the misconception that Mr Pointy belongs to Buffy’s half-sister and not Buffy herself. I could point this out, but manage to restrain myself.
‘Um, could I possibly ask your name?’
She directs her question to the clone commando.
He kind of smiles, then tries to hide it, which ends up turning it into a twisted sort of half-smirk. He raises his eyebrows at his friend over the head of the ball of energy. The blond-wigged teenager looks her over, seeming approving until he reaches her right hand, and the offensive object held within. His eyebrows knit together and he gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head. His friend returns his attention to the expectant girl in front of him.
‘I’m sorry, but your misconstrued idealism towards a highly commendable show, and also your dubious choice of character, has not raised you in my esteem, so I sadly must declaim your request. If you are indeed so anxious to give me a name, you may call me commander.’ He gives her a smile and a nod.
She looks disappointed, but at least has the good sense to walk back to her friends with her head held high. They quickly from a barrier around her and a large amount of whispering commences. Eventually, united, they turn their backs on the two boys. The scorned look at each other, smiling, and the rebel shrugs, not seeming particularly disappointed. Their flow of conversation then continues, as if they had never been interrupted.
To be continued……