The note arrived the old-fashioned way: via the mail. Shitty brought it in along with the real-estate ads and the weekly grocery flyers (which were carefully set aside for Bitty, who generally clipped coupons like a fiend.)
Shitty eyed the envelope suspiciously, tore it open and scanned the note inside, scowling as he did so.
"There is no fucking way this coyly phrased "request" isn't an open invitation to personal injury lawsuits, defamation of character charges, and a lifetime of ridicule," Shitty announced, waving his beer. "Seriously? How can the coaches even think this ukase is permissible?"
"I thought it was an opportunity," Chowder murmured, confused. "What's a ukase?"
"It's one of those things you play in Hawaii," Dex volunteered, looking over Shitty's shoulder at the note.
"No, that's a uvula," Nursey muttered.
Shitty scowled. "You guys ARE in college, right?"
Confused and slightly suspicious they nodded. Shitty relented a bit, and looked around at them. "Okay then. A ukase is an order; a command. The thing you play in Hawaii is a ukulele, and a uvula is that little weirdo punching bag thingie in the back of your throat. Got it?"
Dex and Nursey looked askance; Chowder immediately stuck a finger in his mouth and grinned. "I touched mine!"
"Good for you. Er, not too much, dude, or you'll puke," Shitty pointed out kindly. "Getting back to this, though—it's bad karma, man. Wellie should stay on the sidelines."
"Wellies? Like in all of us?" Chowder asked, still in his general mode of confusion.
"Like in our beautiful mascot, Wellie the Well of Knowledge," Ransom offered, slouching his way into the living room and dropping his backpack by the door. He rolled his eyes. "I heard about the promotional video the athletic department wants us to make—so which one of you sorry-asses is going to suit up and skate around Faber in a velour well costume?"
"Not it!"
"Not it!"
"Shit no!" came the chorus of replies. The team backed away from Shitty as if he had the plague, or in Chowder's case, cooties.
Shitty carried the note to the bulletin board and pinned it there with more force than necessary. "Fine. Looks like a decision for our captaine estimé to make."
Naturally a few hours later, Bitty caught sight of the note, read it, and went into squees of joy. "Yes! Gawd! Has anyone else called this yet? Dibs! Dibs!"
"Dibs on what?" Jack wanted to know. He ambled over to where Bitty was hugging himself, bouncing up and down like a happy yo-yo. "Is there a bake-off?"
"No, not this time. It's this! The chance to be Wellie!" Bitty beamed up at him. "I know it's silly and I'll make a fool of myself but honestly that's sort of what college is all about and ever since I saw Disney on Ice I've wanted to be a skating character! Sure I dreamed about being Aladdin or maybe Elsa but good golly I can carry the glory and honor of being our well, I just know I can!"
Jack read the note and frowned. "Let me get this straight—you want to be . . . a well."
"Not just ANY well, Jack Laurent Zimmermann! OUR well! Wellie, the beautiful embodiment of our glorious motto!" Bitty replied indignantly. "The symbol of Samwell University!"
"The mascot. On ice," Jack sighed. "Bittle, I hate to tell you this, but the costume will be too big for you."
"No it won't!"
Of course it was.
The monstrosity, which resembled a circular pop-up tent in elephant gray, dragged on the ground around Bitty's sneakers, picking up debris from the front yard. Deep within it, Bitty attempted to maneuver, peering out through the dark mesh viewhole. "Well shoot!"
"Well shit is more like it," Shitty manfully refrained from laughing as he squatted to look back at his team mate inside. "Hate to say it Bitty, but you look like a moldy cake, man."
"Like someone left the cake out in the rain," Jack offered, earning strange stares from the rest of the hockey team. Ransom shook his head sadly at this, and Holster sighed, rapping his knuckles against the cloth-covered bucket that dangled from the crossbar of the costume.
"Golden oldies . . . it's fucking tragic what we have to put up with around here."
"Good thing hockey's his day job," Ransom commiserated.
"If we could please get back to the important things!" Bitty called out from the bottom of the velour well. "We'll have to pin the hem up, that's all. I wish I had Moomaw's old Singer with me."
"I think Jack could qualify as a Moomaw Singer," Ransom pointed out.
This was greeted with snickers from the team, a sour look from Jack and a pointed 'ah-HEM' from inside the well. "If y'all are done being absolutely no help at all . . ." Bitty crawled out from under the frame of the costume, wiping his hands as he stood again.
"Bring it up about three inches I'd guess . . . it's a shame it's so . . ."
"Drab? Unremarkable? Lacking in joi de vivre?" Lardo offered as she strolled over. "She's meant to be a stone well, Bitty—the fountain of knowledge here at Samwell." Moving closer, Lardo reached to touch one of the large cartoonish eyes on the front of the costume. "A well complete with Maybelline eyelashes apparently."
"I always thought that she was a little . . ." Chowder began.
"Creepy?" Dex offered.
"Weird?" Nursey supplied.
"Sexy," Chowder finished, cocking his head. "You know, like when Bugs Bunny dresses up as a woman. I know it's supposed to be funny but he always looks pretty dang hot, even if it's just a joke."
Shitty reached out a hand to the frog's shoulder, gripping it lightly. "I'm not sure whether to commend your open-mindedness or worry about your sex life, bro."
The heat of Chowder's blush could have become a fire hazard if Bitty hadn't started hopping a little, distracting everyone.
"She needs . . . a makeover!" he announced, beaming.
Few proclamations in life could stun the entire Samwell Men's Hockey team into silence. This was one of them. To a man they turned their disbelieving gazes to Bitty, who held his chin high.
"Bro . . . seriously?" Shitty finally ventured. "You're talking about re-vamping an institution? Putting a modern face on a WASP standard and sticking it to The Man by forcing them to acknowledge the fluid nature of gender for mascots?" Flinging himself at his team mate, Shitty burst out laughing. "Count me the fuck IN on that action!"
Lardo grinned. "Ditto! Damn, it's a good thing I've got a gift card to the fabric store. Linking her arm with Bitty she added, "Come on; let's see if we can come up with a look."
"Something between Sasha Fierce and Lady Gaga," Bitty offered, eyes bright. "For starters!" Bitty, Lardo and Shitty headed into the Haus, leaving the others behind, none of whom seemed to want to look at each other.
They all looked at the gray shape sitting on the lawn instead.
"This is gonna be bad," Ransom predicted. "Like, trainwreck bad."
"Maybe I can stop them," Jack offered, grimacing.
"Stop Bitty when he's made up his mind?" Holster asked skeptically. "Good luck with that, captain."
Ransom gave a sigh. "At least none of us are wearing it, right?"