how funky is your chicken? [open]

-cough- I’m so sorry, Ethan. I just had to do it.

Ethan Darcy Victoria had absolutely no shame. None at all. He wasn’t afraid of much. He didn’t mind making a fool of himself. In fact, he did it on a regular basis. Ethan wasn’t the most graceful boy in the school, a fact that he was proud of. He wasn’t the smartest person, either. He’d convinced himself that his skin was homosexual, just because it turned several shades of pink rather than red when he blushed. He’d stopped his nervous sweating, which made him even more nervous. But Ethan didn’t care if people thought he was an idiot. He didn’t care if they were talking about him behind his back. He didn’t care about the stupid looks, the teasing, anything. As long as he was having fun, Ethan didn’t particularly care about anything. Which was why he was standing at the James M Painter Memorial Fountain dressed in a chicken costume.

Ethan didn’t exactly remember how this had happened. He remembered that ages ago, he’d made some kind of bet with someone (probably Isabelle), which he’d lost. Ethan didn’t even remember what the bet was; let alone why they made it. What he did remember, however, was that he’d lost. And his punishment for losing was to stand in public wearing a chicken costume. Ethan, on one hand, was glad that he’d lost. It gave him an excuse to randomly wear a chicken costume. On the other hand, he wished he could remember how, when and why he’d made the bet. Ethan assumed he’d find out sooner or later. Whoever he made the bet with was bound to show up today to laugh at him.

Until that person came, Ethan stood in front of the fountain, flapping his arms and clucking. “Excuse me. Could I have everyone’s attention, please?” Ethan called, his voice somewhat muffled by the chicken head. “I have to ask you all something.” Ethan cleared his throat several times, flapped his wings, and started.

“HOW FUNKY IS YOUR CHICKEEEEEN?
How funky is your chicken?
HOW LOOSE IS YOUR GOOSE?
How loose is your goose?
HOW HIGH CAN YOU FLYYYY?
How high can you fly?
HOW LOW CAN YOU GO?
How low can you go?”

It was pretty chilly as Isabelle was hurrying across campus between dance classes to grab some tape from her dorm, and she hugged her coat tight against her body, just covering her plaid tunic and bold grey tights underneath, paired with a pair of comfy boots. Her long dark brown waves were barely contained under a brown knit cap, and her cheeks and nose were rosy in the nippy early January air.

A crowd near the fountain in the courtyard caught Isabelle's attention, and she was instantly distracted from her course, instead turning her attention to the charade at the fountain. Breaking through a few layers of crowd, she managed to push through to the front, face-to-face with an image she had never thought she'd get to see.

It was Ethan. Immediately, she knew it was Ethan. But they'd made that bet so long ago, she really doubted he'd cash in on it ever, and had begun to lose hope of ever seeing him in a chicken suit. Bringing her brown-mittened hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh, Isabelle tried not to guffaw, her body trembling as Ethan prompted the crowd appropriately in order to launch into song and dance. It was almost cruel that he was having to do this, considering the bet had been entirely inane, as most of theirs were, this particularly one being over whether or not Isabelle could eat a whole super sized order of fries without a. barfing or b. going into cardiac arrest. Being the all-American girl that she was, Izz won, of course, and this was the punishment agreed on.

As Ethan launched into song and dance Izz let out a sigh, looking at the crowd around her. Ethan was her best friend, really... they were practically related, and there were precious few people in the world that mattered as much to her. Stepping forward reluctantly, as she knew the routine very well- it'd practically been their secret handshake invented in the seventh grade- Izz stood next to Ethan, grinning ridiculously before stepping in time with him and snapping, clapping, and "shaking her caboose".

"How funky is yo' chickeeeennn?!"

It was too cold out, and Saffron wasn't exactly in the best of moods as she made her way across the Harriman campus. It'd been a hard couple of days, and with each day, things seemed to be looking worse. Saffron knew it was only a matter of time before everyone in the whole school knew her situation. Sure, she could hide her dilemma, physically-wise for a while, but what good would that do anyway? People would find out eventually, and maybe if they found out earlier, they'd get over it faster and just accept the fact that yes, she was pregnant. Though that da-- Harriman Huntress did pose a problem- whoever she was, she was sure to poke her nose in the whole affair- if she was a she, anyway. Maybe Saffie'd put herself out of her misery and send the proof herself.

She shrugged as she walked, the whole argument going in her head. She'd figure it out.

Then... THEN... a miraculous sight came to her freezing cold eyes (odd how eyes can get so cold- she never really thought about that before- it felt weird). A chicken suit. She smiled. What a distraction.

She smiled. It had to be Ethan. She laughed and pulled Fred from her front sweatshirt pocket. With absolutely no second thought about it, she began to click, click, click.

"Oh Ethan," she laughed, coming closer and really zooming in. Click, click, click. "Lost another bet, have you?"

She nodded for him. "Well don't you worry your little feathers about it," an extra giggled filled the pause, "You look absolutely hawwwt. Like... bawk-bawk-bawk soooo hawwwwt!"

Satisfied with the pictures of him, and then both him and Izz, who she smiled at, and said a polite hello to, she joined in on the dancing. "My goose is rather loose," she smiled. "Speaking of flying high... have you been taking a ride on the pineapple express, my dear friend?" She teased. "I think this chicken should join me in that hot tub of hot fudge, he is yuuummmyy." Pun totally intended. "How long are you planning on staying all suited up, mr. chicken?"