Summary: In which the B plot rapidly becomes the A plot. Step aside, boys, we have supporting roles to introduce!
Michael stumbles back, tripping over himself and falling flat on his ass. "Wh- what do you want from me? I- I- I don't mean any trouble!"
The being takes a step towards him, bending down so that it looms over the terrified teen. "Aw, come on, don't you want to play with us?"
"What the hell?" Shit, Michael is going to be kidnapped this weird cult and tied up and tortured like in some sort of fucked up Saw knockoff but like one of the first two Saw movies since they were the best not the shitty later Saw movies and he's getting really off topic but the point is this is bad.
"It'll be fuuuun, my little pet." The cloaked figure giggles, giving Michael a creepy, toothy grin. Wait, does this bitch have fangs? Michael scoots away from her as fast as he possibly can, backing up into a wooden desk and slamming the back of his head on a drawer. He winces, bringing a hand up to his head where he bumped it.
One of the voices from the circle pipes up. "Come on, stop fucking with him."
"Wait, no, this is kind of funny," another, deeper voice says.
A third jumps in, sounding light and raspy. "Well, the vibe is ruined anyways. Way to go, Paul."
After taking a second to recompose himself, Michael speaks up. "Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on?"
The first voice answers him. "She's just messing around, don't pay any attention to her."
The cloaked figure's voice cuts through the noise. "I'm being serious, guys! He might be… the one."
"Wha- um, excuse me?" Michael slowly brings himself to his feet, then goes back to his search for a light switch. After locating it, he flips the switch, revealing four dorkily dressed teens sitting around a Home Goods tea light, each of them wearing a dollar-store pair of reindeer antlers. Well, one of them is wearing deer horns painted to look like... candy corn?
The girl wearing the cloak hisses and shields her eyes. This startles Michael enough for him to tense up and jump ever so slightly, which then prompts laughter from one of the boys in the circle.
The taller of the two boys in the circle gets to his feet. He's wearing a light blue polo and khaki pants, despite it being below freezing outside. "Maybe we should all introduce ourselves. I don't really mind a new addition to the group."
"I mean, I don't exactly have the ti-" Michael tries to slowly tiptoe towards the door, but he's cut off as the boy offers him a handshake.
"My name is Paul. The brains of the group, in case you couldn't already tell." And humble, too. A bit reluctantly, Michael shakes his hand.
The second boy gets to his feet to introduce himself. He's wearing an emerald green hoodie, and his short brown hair is messy. He stumbles as he struggles to stand up, and his movements seem too loose and relaxed for him to be completely sober. "Hey. I'm Barack Hussein Ob-"
"Can you be serious for five goddamn minutes?" Paul glares daggers at the shorter teen, crossing his arms with an air of pure annoyance.
"I'm Jery." The boy plops back down, glowering.
The next person in the circle, a girl wearing the candy cane horns, doesn't even bother to stand up. It might just be the light, but her skin almost looks to be a light shade of grey. "I guess I'm up next, then. I'm Suzie." The girl snickers and licks a piece of chalk she's carrying around, for some reason.
The girl with the cloak practically latches onto Michael. Her long hair is dyed a shade of blood red, and she appears to be wearing a gothic ensemble, complete with a black cloak and a corset. "And me? I'm Rachel, but you can call me Princess Bloodfang. I'm a vampire, born and raised." She smiles, showing off her dollar-store vampire fangs.
"So… you're not a cult?" Michael gently pushes Rachel off of him, relieved that he isn't about to die at the hands of a bunch of dweebs.
"I can be whatever you want me to be, baby." Jery snickers to himself, covering his mouth with one hand.
Paul decides to take the reins. "No, we're not a cult. Our semi-official name is 'the other reindeer.' You know, from the Rudolph song? We see ourselves as deviations from the norm, unwilling to participate in the banalities of the average life. And thusly, we wear these reindeer antlers, to signify to the world that we refuse to bend to their will. This becomes inconvenient around this time of year, but it cannot be helped."
"Wait, but aren't the 'other reindeer' in that song the ones who bully Rudolph?" Michael asks.
Paul goes to cross his arms, then realizes they're already crossed. "Are you insinuating that I don't know the lyrics to a simple child's song?"
"Well, I know it goes 'all of the other reindeer taunted him and called him names,' but I'm not insinuating anything." Michael shoots back, equally annoyed.
"Oooooh Paul, he got you good!" Suzie snorts, then goes back to licking her chalk.
Paul sits cross-legged and re-adjusts the candle. "Fine, fine. We're the island of misfit toys, then. Is that good enough for you? Does that satiate you? Hmmm? Now our antlers are obsolete, and-"
Michael decides to get down to business. The contest is due to start any minute, and he still hasn't checked in with Jeremy, who may or may not have needed his help earlier and been blatantly ignored. "Jesus, I just came in here to see if you have any tape."
"I- I can help you find some!" Rachel's eyes light up with excitement.
Michael isn't going to touch that with a thirty nine and a half foot pole. She just seems too unstable to offer any real help. "I should really get going…"
Rachel clutches onto his arm again, with more force. "No!No! You should just, um, relax for a while. Stay here. There's room."
This is going to go nowhere fast. He has to be firm, yet gentle enough that she won't go psycho on him or try to suck his blood or something. He just has to let her down gently. By changing the subject, or giving an excuse. That might work. "Rachel, I know you're trying to hit on me, and I'm flattered, but I don't, um, I'm not-" But Michael can't tell a complete stranger something so personal to him, not even if it might get her to leave him alone.
"Jesus, dude. You're just like my older brother. Hopefully not as much of a weeaboo, though. Sit down." Jery pats the space next to him as an invitation to sit. On any other day, Michael would be completely fine with chilling with a group of quiet strangers at a party, but right now he has a job to do, and not nearly enough time to do it.
He places one hand on the doorknob. "Sorry, I-"
But Paul cuts him off without skipping a beat. "Look, we couldn't even let you go now if we wanted to. You're in too deep now that you know our true identities. That, and we're about to initiate the Plan." Rachel wastes no time in leaning over and pressing the door closed.
This can't be good.
After taking a few moments to calm down, Jeremy gets back to business. He has, what, ten minutes before the ugly sweater competition begins? There's no time for him to beat himself up over his stupidity. Searching around the room, he grabs whatever looks like it could be of use. Tape, a few CDs, a framed picture of Snoop Dog (for some reason), and a few other small trinkets. He spends a hot minute messily throwing everything onto his sweater and securing it with tape, causing the sweater to look like a toddler in a craft store assembled it.
Just as he's putting the finishing touches on his sweater, Jake's voice blasts through the floor. "All right all right all right everyone! Our previous situation has been sorted out, so the contest will begin in… two minutes! Get down to the living room to enter! Rock on, my little snowmen." Then, a bit quieter, "Did that last part even make sens- Oh, shit. Cut the mic."
A brief scuffle is heard before the voice of Rich blasts over the speaker system once again. "To the punk who fucked up my sweater and ran away like a pussy, I'm going to find you. I have eye-witnesses who know what you look like, and they say you came in a white sedan. If you don't want your tires slashed, you better face the fuck off."
Another scuffle. Jake is back. "Hey, hey, hey! Good vibes only, everyone! Keep partying hard and, um, watch where you spew. We have virgin eggnog and sparkling cider for all those who don't want to be super hungover tomorrow, so go to the kitchen for more information on that!"
"And seriously, carpets are expensive to clean. Keep that in mind." A different voice, a bit deeper than the others, cuts in. Is that Jason Findelman, from Jeremy's history class? Is this his house? That explains a lot. Jason was always a bit of a slob, even if he knew how to throw a rad party. In class, he had often shown up with his clothes covered in various, unidentifiable stains and a smell that made Jeremy think he had never showered in his entire life. He sure as hell knew how to get lit, though.
But now, back to business. Jeremy quickly tapes another CD to his sweater and heads out of Jason's bedroom. He knocks on the door Michael disappeared into, giving a quick "I'll be in the living room, see ya in a bit" before heading downstairs. Michael sure is taking a long time in there, and Jeremy wonders what he could've possibly found that's keeping him preoccupied for so long. Maybe a gang of teens were in there smoking, and Michael decided to join in and forgot entirely about the sweater contest. This wouldn't be the first time something like that has happened. But as long as Michael isn't pissed off at him, Jeremy is okay with it.
The teen makes his way to the living room. A crowd is forming around one side of the room, where the participants are all lined up. Jeremy quickly realizes that his sweater is vastly inferior to those of the majority of competition participants. Most of the sweater-wearers look as if they spent an hour minimum decorating their sweater beforehand, with the best of the bunch including mini light-displays and intricate tinsel designs. One of them even has a light display that blinks and flickers in time to the music booming throughout the house.
Jeremy is absolutely boned.
There's no way he can win this.
He takes a few steps backwards, trying to fade into the crowd. Unfortunately, before he can, a hand grasps his arm and pulls him onto a makeshift stage made out of a few dining tables pushed together.
"Aaaaand we have a late entry. A superstar challenger!" Jake shouts into the microphone, the crowd responding with drunken, thunderous applause. Jake slaps him on the back, guiding him to line up with the other sweatered men. A few of them look him over, some of them turning to each other and snickering quietly.
"Now if everyone is ready to begin, how about we all go around and say our names and our favorite Christmas movie. Or Eight Crazy Nights, if you're Jewish. There aren't really any good Hanukah movies, are there? Any future directors in our audience, get on that shit!" A few stray cheers rise up from the crowd.
Jake continues with his speech. "Okay, let's go down the line! Rich, you want to start us off?"
A muscular blonde boy in a lime green sweater with no sleeves takes the mic. The sweater has some sort of weird design on it with a floating eye and text, but from his current angle Jeremy can't quite make out what it says. "Rich Goranski. Home Alone. I better get extra points for what happened to my swea-"
Jake cuts him off. "Moooooving on! And up next…"
The microphone continues down the line, slowly approaching Jeremy. Sweating a bit, he desperately tries to tidy up some of the ornaments on his sweater. Shit, he doesn't even know any Christmas movies, and he outright refuses to claim Eight Crazy Nights as his favorite. A pompom pops off of his right sleeve.
This is bad.