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I'll debate whether that is a compliment or snipe at my person.

Doug was coming home after “the game”. It was a moot point what game it was, because if you wanted to play any sport at Wilton-Lyndebourgh Cooperitive, you played them all so that there was enough people to play agaisnt other towns. Doug had accepted a ride from Nick Jowders, due to some eariler car trouble of his own.
“Holy s**t!” exclaimed Nick, observing a tree which had fallen into the road.
“Dude! When did that happen?”
“********, man, I don’t know.” Nick grumbled, slowing to a stop. They stepped out of the car to examine it closer.
“That is one ******** big tree.”
“You think it hit a power line on it’s way down?”
“Probably.”
“Blackouts across town, I’m betting.”
“Yeah.”
“Think we should move it?”
“Dude, look at it! There is no ******** way we’re moving this ******** tree.”
“Yeah, man, I guess you’re right.” sighed Doug. “I’ll just walk, man, it’s not that far.”
“You sure, man?”
“Yeah, whatever.” shrugged Doug, pulling a sports bag from the back of the car.
“See you later, ‘kay man?”
“Yeah.” he agreed, throwing himself over the tree.
“Don’t get yourself raped or anything, man? You still owe me fifteen bucks.”
“******** you, Nick.” grumbled Doug, gesticulating as he walked away. It wouldn’t be so bad walking home tonight. The moon was full, it shead plenty of light for him to walk by. The power was probably out, as none of the houses shead any light through their windows. The night was fairly quiet, save the normal sounds of night. A lone cricket told him in it’s own tounge that it was bloody cold out. The wind danced slightly through the leaves, making them chime like paper. These sounds were almost muffled by his own footfalls, treading slowly through the night. It wasn’t that he heard anything, but rather, sensed someone behind him. He turned quickly, to find a thin boy standing behind him.
“Damian!” he breathed, “s**t, man, you almost gave me a heart attack.”
“Did I?” Damian asked with the slightest amusement, “Your heart is about to burst with shock?”
“Not that bad.” he muttered, stepping back, slightly weirded out.
“But I can hear it beating,” he grinned, “I can hear your blood speeding through your veins.”
“Dude, don’t go dealing while smoking your own s**t. Go home, man.”
“I’ll ’go home, man.’ I’m just getting something to eat.”
“What? Why did you come out to the middle of nowhere if you’ve got the munchies?”
“I eat loud.” he smirked, taking another step forword. Doug freaked out completely at this point and turned to run. Damian pursured at a great speed, jumping ahead of him.
“Chill, dude.”
“You’re freaking me out, man!”
“That’s too bad.” smiled Damien, baring what appeared to be those fake plastic fangs they sell in party stores, but they had been dyed a disgusting yellow.
“Cut it out, man! Get those ********’ things outta your mouth!”
“Love to.” Damien replied, launching himself at Doug. The two fell to the ground, and Doug tossed the thinner from him, rolling away as best he could. Damien leapt again at Doug, now on the ground, and pinned him there.
“Thanks, man.” Damien grinned, “It’s best drunk warm, and adrenilene always gave me a buzz.” The dark-haired boy lowered his face to the other’s jugular. Doug felt he should have screamed, he opened his mouth to do so, but no sound came out. Clouds passed the moon, and the night was unbroken by a lapping sound as soft as a deer drinking from a stream.

“Frrrozen in-side,” the girl sang loudly, rolling the “r” so that she actually pronounced it, ”Without your touch, without your love, darling, ooonly you are the life amoung the deead!! ” She dropped to one knee before the broomstick in her hands, a cream-colored trenchcoat cerimoniously draped over it as if that made this action any less pathethetic.
“All of this time, ” pronunced the voice over the CD player, lipsynced by the slowly waving broomstick, “I can’t believe I couldn’t see, kept in the dark, thought you would never follow me!”
“I’ve been sleeping a thosand years, it seems,” replied the broomstick’s lover, her face covered in black eyeliner like war paint, wearing a black sleeveless trenchcoat which tangled with the first, “Got to open my eyes to everything!”
“Without a thought, without a voice, without a soul! Don’t let me die here! There must be something more!”
“Bring me to-”
“LIFE!!!” screamed the older sister of this loser, bursting into her little sister’s room.
“Eek!!” schreeched the younger, dropping the broomstick and jumping about a foot in the air. She then tripped over the cord to her fan.
“Willow!” gasped the younger, “Don’t you knock?”
“Kat, what are you doing?” asked a bemused Willow.
“Experiementing with coat dynamics in dancing couples.” spat Kathryne, dusting off her own.
“There’s easier ways.” muttered her older sister, shaking her head.
“This,” replied Kat, gesturing to the fallen broomstick, “is the easiest way that comes to mind.”
“You could get an actual dance partner,” stated Willow in the most obvious way possible, “Maybe even one with shoulders.”
“No, this is easier.”
“Who said it had to be him?”
“I didn’t. Which him? What are you blithering about? What are you insinuating?”
“That you need a life...” replied Willow, “...and maybe a sedative.”
“Fair enough.”
“And to stop stalking Tom.”
“I did stop! No, wait I didn’t, because you need to start something to stop it and I never stalked him!”
“Are you hearing yourself?” laughed Willow, “ ‘I never stalked Tom’? Kat, would you say that under oath?”
“Shut up! It’s not his fault!” spat Kat furisously. She sucked her teeth and fell to one knee. “Damn you, catchphrase!”
“It is a dumb catchphrase.” agreed Willow.
“Better than my other one: ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry!’ ”
“Hey, that’s mine!”
“Fine: ‘What was I doing?’ ”
“Perfect. It’s so you.”
“That’s really sad.”
“Okay, why are you experimenting with coat dymnamics in dancing couples, with or without a broom, but with two different kinds of eyeliner?”
“Well,” replied Kat nervously, as if fishing for an answer, “bordem will make a girl do strange things.”
“No s**t.” Willow answered, untying the end of her thick blonde braid. “Goodnight, Kat. We’re ‘working’ tomorrow.”
“Ugh.” returned Kat, throwing down the broomstick, “Work such as we do it.”

Kathryne and Willow Taylor where sisters in crime and sisters by blood. The two lived in a farmhouse in Lyndebourgh with their mother, various cats, goats, chickens, peacocks, sheep, and a female turkey called “Dikey” because she thought she was a tom. And their brother. Kat, seventeen, was a seinor at WLC, had a lisp, brassy blonde wavy hair which barely brushed her hips, which stood a meger thirty-seven inches from the ground, and both an inferiory and a superiory complex. She was sixty-two inches in hight, including the tatty kitty ears she always wore. Although she always wore short skirts and beared a most delicate frame, she presented herself as almost male at times. While she was quite fond indeed of beautiful young men, or bishonen as she called them, she would attempt not to fawn in public, replused by the girls who did. She had, over the course of her high school carrer, relished in the confusion and subtle fear of her classmates. She was prone to almost bi-polar mood swings, which alternated between a damp sort of misery, and when she forget she was doing that, a perkiness bordering insanity. Her sister was twenty-five, stood a busty five-foot ten, but presented herself as much taller due to her bold manner and dress. Willow had sunshine-yellow hair when she didn’t dye it various shades of crimson, bright blue eyes, and a cheerful voice, all things good in cute little girls. While many people would argue that Willow was quite cute indeed, she was by no strech of the imagonation little. Muscluar, yet rounded more than slightly, with downright enormous breasts which were disturbingly perky considering the size, Willow somehow toed the endrogoenus line. Willow toed alot of lines: good behavior, good taste, reality, nothing was quite out of question in Willow’s mind, save lying. Willow detested lying in all it’s forms, it sickened her to an extent that she would usually pin someone to a wall and scream at them when she found out she had been lied to. She was a very loud woman. Amoung these many talents, she was also disturbing observent, and often found things in places that had already been searched. However, she was a bit anti-social and had severe chronic fatigue syndrome. She took it all in great humor though. She had thosands of in-jokes with various people, including face-suckers, zombie hickies, the phrases “Bob could do it” and “MINON!!!”. When she was in high school, it was comman for her to throw her long coat over her shoulders, pick up her keys, and tell her mother that she was going out vampire slaying. Despite her silliness, she was a very hardworking indivual who rarely left a job incomplete, and a very good person to work with.

The dark figure crept along the egde of the roof, then leapt down nimbly and with almost no sound. It’s prey slid across the ground, looking for it’s enemy in every direction except the one it was in. The dark figure pulled a sword from the depths of it’s cloak and brought to the other figure with a slight cry. The prey screamed in the most masuline way he could manage and fell back, pushing away the second figure with a sword he similairly produced from nowhere. The dark figure perried effortlessly, then stuck the second futher back. The second firmed his stance and drove the dark figure back a pace himself. The dark figure found himself backed into a barrer, but in a single movement, held his sword to his chest and did a one-handed backflip over it. His opponent leapt onto the counter and then leapt down on the dark figure, who stuck him three times before the other could raise his sword. The first let out a cry of pain and dropped to his knees, releasing the sword. The dark figure grasped the second by the hair and pulled his head back so he could place his blade along the loser’s throat. The dark figure breathed vehmently, victoriously, then suddenly panic filled his eyes. He turned his oppent’s head to face his own and stared deeply at him. The pair beathed vehminitely staring at one another, neither moving a muscle. Suddenly, a look of panic entered the eyes of the dark figure as they faded from grey to blue.
“Kiss me, you fool!”
“Tom!” schreeched his opponent, throwing himself from Tom’s grip.
“Cut!” snarled the director, leaping towards the pair.
“I forgot my line...” moaned Tom, his head in hand.
“What’s the line, Tom?! What’s the line?”
“You fool... uh...”
“ ‘You never should have crossed me, you fool!’ ‘You never should have crossed me!’ Dammit, Tom! That was a good fight and you ******** it up!”
“Then don’t have me act.”
“Dammit! Like anyone else could do that damn flippy-thing!”
“Then cut it out of the fight. He can leap over it or duck under it or anything.”
“That is a ******** brillant move! You chorographed the damn scene, you should have a little goddamn pride in it!”
“I messed around with my brother and said, ‘That’d look cool’! It’s not like this is my goddamn life’s work!”
“Dammit, Tom, you can act! You were in ******** renfair!”
“I fought in renfair.” he clairifed snidely.
“Well, at least ya got your banter right at renfair!”
“This is not my magnum opus, okay? This is a TV production project. In three weeks, no one will care.” Tom replied coolly. He wasn’t a terribly emotional person. Tom took out his long black ponytail and redid it slightly neater.
“Quit messin’ with you hair, pretty boy, and get back on the set.”