Ray(a)

I couldn't help the sharp scowl pulling at my features as I yet again made a minute adjustment to the wig I'd been coerced (re: wrestled) into wearing; it had the godawful habit of slipping whenever my head moved even the slightest bit. Kay, seeing my struggle, allowed himself a thin-lipped smile while he ran a careful hand through his own silken blonde locks, which remained perfectly in place despite how often and how vibrantly he moved.

Damn author. This was just bonus torture for me, I knew it.

"What the hell are we even doing here?" I seethed, casting another unhappy glance around the convention hall.

It was some kind of grand event we'd been dragged to; hundreds, thousands of people milled around the vast space, dashing from one of the many stalls situated against the walls to the next, all of them dressed in bright, exotic costumes that seriously hurt my eyes the longer I stared. Towards the back of the hall I could make out where they'd erected a wide stage that currently housed no one; a sign off to the side told me they'd be announcing the winners of the cosplay contest in about an hour.

Kay shrugged, evidently as clueless as I was (which comforted me in no way, shape, or form). "Does it matter? Our author wished us to be here, and so we are. It's nothing we haven't been subjected to before, I'm sure."

"Kay. There're freaks here. That one guy was walking around shirtless and he was wailing on that other guy with pink hair."

"Your point? You've done far worse during your temper tantrums."

"We're also guys right now, if you haven't noticed! Is that seriously not weird to you?"

"It wouldn't be the first time," Kay deadpanned, and memories of our last club scenario spent as our genderbent selves came rushing to the surface, painting my cheeks a rustic red. I'd said way too much like that, things I came to regret when I'd reverted back into my normal self. "In any case, we're meant to act today, no? As I recall, we're tasked with portraying the two men we've been dressed to resemble."

I looked down, callously picking at the fur collar of my aviator jacket. It wasn't an ensemble I would have picked out myself, but I did have to admit that knowing my author, it could have been so much worse. The bland military uniform chafed a bit in all the wrong places, but I chalked that up to my being unused to wearing it. Really, the only thing that earned my rightful wrath was the damnable blond wig that freaking refused to stay put for more than five seconds. As I set about readjusting it again, I brushed the lone strand of hair that stuck nearly straight up. A cowlick, Author-chan called, I think. Weird but manageable, I supposed.

Kay had gotten the royal treatment as well, decked out in a green military suit not too different from my own, a shaggy blond wig, and emerald-green contacts (my own were a cool cerulean blue), along with monstrous brows (the kind I was fairly certain we're going to sprout wings and take flight to terrorize a local, defenseless village). He looked unperturbed at the change in attire, and stood languidly across from me, leaning back against the wall (probably only trying to up his damn cool factor, though I wasn't buying it).

He must have felt my eyes on him, because he ceased his study of a group passing us by (they were pretty eye-catching, dressed at they were in lilac suits and unflattering yellow dresses) to meet my wandering stare.

"I suggest you act like a blithering idiot for the remainder of our time here," he said through a dry smile, tacking on "it won't be too terribly difficult for you, I assume?" before I could get a word in edgewise.

I retaliated by throwing a hamburger (which had mysteriously materialized from the inside of my jacket) at his smug expression; of course, he lithely dodged to the side, and the grease-ridden thing disappeared behind a stand advertising limited edition posters for something called Axis Powers: Hetalia.

But in the end he was right. The only way we'd be able to escape this damn convention was if we played the roles we'd been assigned. In my case, that was Alfred F. Jones, junk food connoisseur, wannabe space nerd, and otherwise known as America, the greatest goddamn country in the whole wide world.

Kay was, supposedly, Arthur Kirkland, a gentleman by nature who had a case of the crazies (seeing flying bunnies and whatnot qualified as unstable, in my opinion) and quite the haunted past, if I understood him correctly. His alter ego was England, one-time ruler, one-time enemy, and long-term ally of America.

Friendly rivals, you could say.

I was beginning to see why Author-chan had felt the need to switch our genders for this cosplay, but I was no less pissed over the fact.

Biting the inside of my cheek raw, I crossed my arms, chest swelling with my resigned breath. "Fine," I bit out from between clenched teeth, to which Kay smirked and folder over in a mock bow. "Let's just get this over with."

"Ah-ah," Kay chided, crossing his own arms and impatiently tapping his foot. "I believe you're meant to adopt a new persona. It isn't terribly hard, you know, though I'm not surprised a bloody git like yourself is having trouble. You always were a damnable fool. How you ever managed to break away from me is a mystery."

An unfamiliar feeling bubbled up within the pit of my stomach, some strange combination of anger, betrayal, and - this was the questionable part - guilt. I blinked behind my glasses, simply staring at Kay. The smirk had fallen from his lips, replaced by a minuscule frown and a deep furrow between his mountainous brows. Seems he was under the same spell I was, then, and suffering from emotions that weren't quite his own.

It suddenly felt as though a switch had been flipped, and I could tell there was no going back.

Oh Author-chan is gonna have hell to pay when this over, I swear to Kami...

"Dude, dude, chill," I laughed, loping over in quick strides to swing an arm around his neck, momentarily catching him off guard; he uncharacteristically (for Kay, anyway) squirmed in my grip, volatile curses rushing from his lips when he realized he lacked the strength to throw me off. "We're here to have some fun! You remember what that's like, don't ya, Grandpa?"

"You bleeding idiot," he hissed, uselessly shoving at my arm in an attempt to free himself from me, "have you shame? Or better yet, have you no respect?"

"Respect? For you, Iggy? Ha, no way, dude!"

"You moronic fatarse--"

"Oi, what the hell are you two even up to?"

Kay and I turned simultaneously (though with him being pretty much trapped, he didn't have much say in the matter) to come face-to-face with a hulking redheaded giant - one I recognized a second later after a once-over and a few synapses firing off.

"Timor?" I asked blankly, unconsciously releasing Kay; he made a show of brushing himself clean, giving me a murderous sidelong glance as he pointedly stepped away from me. "Dude, that really you?"

Red-haired and red-eyed, Timor was still Timor, even while dressed in a black-and-white basketball jersey. He proved me right in thinking that when he rudely rolled his eyes before slipping back into whatever character he'd been drafted as and glaring intently at me.

I almost shuddered. Almost.

"Kagami Taiga," he said by way of an introduction, juggling the basketball he held under his arm to the opposite hand. "And the runt's Kuroko."

"Who?"

"Hello."

Even Kay (sorry, Arthur "England" Kirkland) pathetically jumped about two feet into the air, hearing the disembodied, monotone voice that seemed to emanate from directly behind us. We spun around, fully intending to throttle whoever'd had the nerve to try a sneak-attack on us, but stopped short.

It was Maddox. At least, I was pretty damn sure it was that spindly little marine.

He was dressed in a jersey that matched Timor's (Kagami's, whatever) but his own hair was a startling sky-blue, which just so happened to be the same color as his eyes. Instead of a basketball, though, he carried a small, stuffed dog that eerily resembled its current owner.

I shared an uncomfortable look with Kay. This was just weirding me out now.

Maddox's presence as this Kuroko guy was practically nonexistent. I hadn't heard a peep from him as he approached us, and Maddox was a known clutz - that sort of silent entrance was veritably impossible for him. For him to be so absolutely soundless, so air-like... whoever this Kuroko was, he was terrifying.

I would have loved to point that out (and possibly demand how Maddox of all people had managed to pull this routine off) but was interrupted by the obnoxious crackling of the overhead speakers coming to life. A rough, distorted voice came over next, making the irritating sounds of one clearing their throat. Then:

"The cosplay contest will begin shortly. All participants, please make your way to the main stage for judging."

Kay immediately hooked arms with me, dragging me along as though I were a protesting child - and trust me, this Alfred fit the description to a damn T. Timor and Maddox followed closely at our heels, and I kept wrenching my head around to make sure we hadn't lost our little marine, considering I had no other way of determining whether or not he was with us. Timor cracked a wicked smile the third time he caught me checking, and I have to say, it was that - more than his testosterone-charged persona - that nearly had me ruining my pants.

Timor. Smiling. Smugly. It's unlike anything you've ever seen, and it's something I never want to see again.

But I had a feeling I'd be seeing a hell of a lot more of it if we were actually going to participate in that contest. Which we were. Against my will. Because my author hated me and thrived on my misfortune.

Yay me, am I right?