Hi. Sorry, it's been way too long. Really. But I'm determined to finish this story, I'm excited about where it's going. This is a short chapter (I mean super short) but I figured it's better than nothing. Again, I'm really sorry, and I'll try to be better about updating in the future. Keyword is TRY. Thank you for your patience!
There's still fake blood. I don't think there are any other chapter warnings.
Stay safe, please review, and enjoy reading!
...
Patton was almost back to the practice room with a game called Exploding Kittens when he heard the shrieking in the kitchen. Was that Roman? He tossed the game box into the room and ran to the kitchen. At least, he tried to. A small crowd was growing at the entrance near the hallway and foot of the stairs. Patton squeezed behind them to get to the second entrance to the kitchen, near the front door, and entered the kitchen.
The first thing he noticed was that Virgil was on the counter. That wasn't a good sign. Virgil did tend to sit on literally anything under any circumstances, but only at his own house; if he was sitting on the counter at Roman's house, something must have spooked him.
Then he saw the red liquid scattered across the room. Slowly soaking through Roman's costume. Dripping from the refrigerator door.
Patton wished he could've said something profound and comforting, but the only word that could fight its way into his mind through his pure, viscous confusion was: "What?"
Roman's shoulders rose as he sucked in a noisy breath, his fisted hands lowering to his sides.
Abruptly, Patton snapped out of his initial shock. "Deep breaths, Roman, we'll clean this up." He crossed the kitchen and inched along the side of the counter by Virgil, calling out to the other partygoers, "Nothing to see here. Go back to the living room, we'll deal with it." The crowd began to shift away.
Janus appeared around the fading group, peeking into the kitchen with a barely concealed smirk. "Do you need any help in here?"
Before Patton could respond, a black and green blur barrelled into Janus, sending him reeling across the kitchen. Remus grabbed the doorframe to stop his momentum, but his friend had no such luck, slipping and falling into the puddle of fake blood.
That was how Logan found them when he eventually arrived, having taken the stairs at a reasonable pace: Remus clinging to the doorway as if for support, cackling gleefully; Patton leaning on the counter with a smile frozen in place as he clearly realized that any effort of damage control was in vain; Roman heaving comically deep breaths through gritted teeth as he stood drenched in red in the middle of the kitchen; Virgil huddled on the counter, still hissing at the mess; and Janus, sprawled face-first in the fake blood, who might have been screaming into the floor, but it was hard to tell with all the commotion.
"I don't understand social gatherings," Logan said, knowing and not caring in the slightest that nobody was listening to him.