I don't paint dreams or nightmares

Bay was automatically suspicious when she picked up her phone and saw a few dozen people from Kansas City had texted her overnight. It was a relief when she realized that -- unlike the last several times this had happened -- nobody was arrested, dead or getting a divorce.

Instead, the Royals had made the World Series for the first time since 1985 ... and everybody Bay knew was losing their shit over it. This was what she got for having been raised by a former third baseman. It was actually sort of sweet to see them so happy, even as Bay remained resolutely apathetic to sports in general.

At least she got to mock her dad for having spent his entire professional baseball career between championship titles. Little things sometimes helped.


[OOC: NFB, open to calls/texts/emails.]

The night in Los Angeles had been uncomfortable. Nico and other-Victor had disappeared into a bedroom, and no one else felt like doing much beyond staring dumbly at the television. Xavin was the only one who seemed able to speak much, and she wasn't exactly a great conversationalist.

In the morning, Bay took the first portal back to Fandom because she couldn't think of anything better to do. She could mourn anywhere, and it seemed likely the rest of Gert's friends had crimefighting to do that she would just get in the way of. (Not that she understood how they could want to be heroes after they lost Gert, but her comments to that effect went nowhere.)

She took Old Lace up to her dorm room and made a phone call she didn't much want to make, because it made everything that much more real. Only knowing she owed it to Gert got her through leaving the message for Evan. Then she curled up on her bed, the dinosaur resting her head against Bay's shoulder as if she knew comforting was needed.

[OOC: Closed door, open post. Extreme emo warning.]

Bay hadn't had a particularly memorable Wednesday. After First Aid class -- puppies! -- she'd gone to her art class on the mainland, bantered with Tank, and thought about how she'd ask Ledarsky for a letter of recommendation. She'd gotten hit with a bad headache during her trip home; it had been a relief to get back to her dorm room, take a couple painkillers, and fall asleep.

The next morning, Bay didn't wake up. In her place, Dominic Vasquez did.

But then, Dominic would say he'd been there all along.

He leaned out of bed, not bothering with his hearing aids yet, and grabbed his laptop to load up Photoshop. He was still working on tweaking that portfolio to show Ledarsky.

[OOC: Cracked door, open post. Bay is now an AU'd version of herself, Dominic Vasquez, for the duration of the BDE! Click here for more info about him.]

Trying to do the portrait assignment at Tank's frat house had turned out to be exactly as bad an idea as Bay had thought it would be to start with. There turned out to be a party going on, and Tank shoved a cup of punch into her hands and told her to chill while he took care of ... whatever people trying to pledge a frat took care of.

So. She had punch. She chilled. She ran into an old friend from Kansas City, Mary Beth, and somehow that cup of punch kept getting tastier and tastier as they small-worlded at each other. And then Bay had a few more cups of punch, and then she decided to follow some guy named, um, ledge. Bluff. Cliff up to his room for beer.

Tank intervened, dragged her outside, all but held back her hair as she puked and sympathized as she moaned about not having a boyfriend. And then he loaded her into a cab and sent her back to the island.

Which was, Bay had to admit, surprisingly decent and not-cavemany of him.

She rested on her bed, moaning softly as she waited for the room to finish spinning. "Punch is baaaaaaad."

[OOC: Cracked door, open post.]

When Bay woke up Saturday morning, she laid perfectly still for a moment. She smelled everything perfectly -- the Doritos on Topher's side of the room, a mostly-empty can of spray paint she'd shoved under her bed, somebody's slightly burnt attempt at coffee in the common room. It was overwhelming and trippy and made even more so by the fact that,when she sat up, she realized her hearing was going crazy too -- she heard what she would swear was a guy singing in the shower floors and floors away.

Okay. The island is weird, film at eleven, she told herself, and groped for the sketchbook she kept on her so she could sketch her impressions before this particular bout of weirdness went away.

Fifteen minutes later, she was looking at a page full of stick figures, scribbles, and eraser-marks.Even her straight lines were turning out crooked.

"... Huh."

[OOC: Closed door, open post, some weekend SP.]

( A few hours later, Bay, Angelo and the adoptive fathers were gathered for the world's most uncomfortable cookies-and-coffee summit. )

*****

( They caught up with Toby in a hotel. )

[OOC: Post 2/2. Still based on 2x17, ""Prudence, Avarice, Lust, Justice, Anger." NFB due to distance. Open for calls/texts if anybody really wants?]

After archery class -- or, as Bay suspected she'd fondly think of it, 'ogling the teacher's arms 101' -- Bay went back to her room to sketch in peace. (Or ... relative peace, considering the fact she kept singing under her breath and snatches of song were drifting in from the halls.)

She'd barely outlined the self-portrait she was working on before her phone rang with a call from Kathryn Kennish. She picked it up with some annoyance. "'H'lo?"

Her expression sobered quickly at what her mother told her. Her father was in the hospital after a heart attack. Regina had found him and he was doing better than expected, but he'd been asking for Bay. Could she come home for a few days?

Of course she could.

As she packed, she realized she was singing. This time, she didn't hold it in.

So tired, tired of this drama
No more, no more
I wanna be free
I'm so tired, so tired...

[OOC: Based on canon events. Cracked door, open post.]

So far, Bay's brilliant plan to take Gert home with her to deflect questions and ease any lingering tension had worked perfectly. Kathryn had fussed over the purple-haired girl, which made Toby sympathetic, and now he was Gert's temporary best friend. And Gert had actually seemed kind of impressed by the stuff in Bay's studio, which was always a fantastic boost to her fragile artist ego. Daphne and Emmett seemed pretty upset about Carlton closing, which made Bay feel bad, but there were still a couple weeks in the school year, right? Plenty of time to figure something out.

So now all Bay and Gert had to do was get through Romeo & Juliet, see Angelo and Lana ... and then head back to the island of weird. Bay could do that in her sleep.

Everything was going perfectly right up to the balcony scene, when Bay noticed Daphne looked stricken before seeming to glance her way. She turned to the back of the theater, where Travis seemed equally stricken.

There was clearly nothing to do but go talk to him. Bay excused herself and went up the aisle.

//What's going on?//, she signed.

//Nothing.//

And this was why Bay had never particularly cared for Travis. Being lied to sucked. //I know you guys are planning something. What is it?//

Travis reluctantly explained the plan: The students were going to take over the Carlton building to force the administration to keep it open. But, he noted, //We're not taking over anything if we don't get rid of the security guard.//

They needed a distraction to get everyone's attention away from building security, Bay knew -- but what? It was practically fate that the fire alarm was right in her line of sight. She felt kind of horrible about it -- all of Kathryn's hard work, gone -- but she went over to pull it.

Lights started to flash in a silent alarm, and then there was chaos. Bay scrambled through the crowd to grab Gert's hand and then scrambled outside the theater and toward the school along with everybody else.

"I'll explain later," she whispered.

[OOC: NFB. For the girl with purple hair only.]

Bay had noticed the random children the day before, and been smugly grateful it seemed to have passed her by. It wasn't that she was completely opposed to having kids someday, but right now? She didn't even really like to babysit.

She sprawled on her bed, idly flipping through a magazine as she appreciated her good fortune.

[OOC: Primarily for one, but open!]