Daybreak #2: Advanced Aeronautics and Extracurricular Disputes

==The Dean's Office. Greendale==

 

Day 5

 

Flanked by Chuck and Blake, each resting their hands on his to keep him docile, Otis sat at the Dean's desk, his arms crossed defiantly. Across from them, the psychology (and very briefly, Anthropology) professor, Ian Duncan sat by the Dean's side, taking down notes, no doubt planning to release a book based around Flannegan's earlier meltdown. Jeff was sat on the adjacent seat, watching Brown and his cohorts suspiciously, his hands wrapped around his phone.

 

As Chuck finished recounting their story, the Dean raised a hand to silence him. "I think I understand what's going on here," he nodded slowly. "Is pen code for something?"

 

Blake, who'd been sitting beside them uninterested, turned to Chuck and Flannegan with sudden investment. "Is it?"

 

"No?" Chuck shook his head, confused. "It really was just a pen."

 

"That they stole-!" Flannegan yelled, leaping to his feet, and spitting onto the Dean's desk.

 

"Technically, you stole it first," Chuck sighed.

 

"Not the point."

 

"What is the point?" Jeff asked.

 

Flannegan mumbled something, then crumpled back into his chair.

 

The Dean wiped his glasses with his cloth, and swallowed. "Well, gentlemen, I'm willing to be lenient here. A lot of students here have been prone to psychotic breakdowns- some of them animated."

 

"Oh, I'll bet," Chuck said.

 

"No, I mean, some of them have literally been animated. Stop motion and everything."

 

"Right..." Chuck replied, as he looked over to his equally bemused counterparts. "Well, if it means Otis gets off, I'm willing to overlook that."

 

"But-" the Dean continued, tilting his head to look at Flannegan, "I think it would be in everyone's best interests to keep you separated from Jeffrey's study group."

 

"Suits me," Flannegan remarked, as he stormed out of the room.

 

"I think that went well," Jeff reasoned, as his eyes lingered on the door.

 

~

 

As Flannegan walked off, a voice called to him from a nearby vent. "Hey, Rat-Boy!"

 

"A'ight," Flannegan muttered irritably, rolling his eyes as he knelt beside the metal grate. Inside, was a short, cross and undoubtedly unbalanced Asian man.

 

"I was listening to that little intervention in there. Who needs them?" he spat. "You know, they kicked me out of the study group too?"

 

Flannegan glanced down at him, and snorted. "Hn. I wonder why."

 

==Study Room F==

 

Day 8, the following Monday

 

With Flannegan gone, the Misfits sat at their table in relative silence. Every now and then, Chuck or Blake would glance over at the Study Group's table anxiously. Jeff, Chuck noted, had not been seen since they'd talked with the Dean, and his first instinct was Flannegan had killed him; Something he kept telling himself to write off as pure paranoia. One thing was for certain, however; the trio had overstayed their welcome here.

 

"Look, I say, we go over there, apologize, and then we leave," Chuck told his partners.

 

"Leave?" Blake grinned dismissively. "Chuck, this campus has some prime real estate and I intend to mark my territory. Besides, I've already begun stalking my prey," he smiled, gesturing at Britta from afar. "Ten cats, no self esteem? My kinda party."

 

"The activist, Tom?" Chuck asked skeptically. "She's repulsed by you."

 

"Ah," Blake winked. "They're all repulsed by me, Chuck, the difference is she likes cats, and I like-"

 

"Oh, don't say it," Chuck recoiled.

 

"-Cats also. Must you always think the worst of me, Charles?" he asked reproachfully.

 

"They're staring at us," Mayo noted, peering over to the Study Group's table.

 

"Yeah, that's probably because Otis tried to stab them," Chuck groaned tiredly.

 

"God, I forgot that civvies could be so dull," Blake scoffed. "How many times have we stabbed each other, eh, Mayo?"

 

"A lot," Mayo said bluntly.

 

"A lot!" Blake said to Chuck assertively, as if that had somehow made his point.

 

Chuck shook his head, and rose to his feet. "I'm doing it," he announced, drowning out Blake's objections with a loud cough.

 

"Hey, guys?" he began, addressing the room, but before he could finish, the doors to the library swung open, as Jeff entered the study room, several print outs in hand. "Ladies, gentlemen, I have some upsetting news," he said, adopting the mannerisms and commanding tone he'd picked up as a lawyer.

 

"Is it about the blocked ladies' room, because we already knew about that," Britta interjected. "We think Star-Burns had a meth lab in there."

 

"Ohmygod, Did Tom Hanks die?" Troy panicked. "Because I can't take that man, you know I can't."

 

Jeff sighed. "No, it's about Chuck. He's not the man he said he is. He looks average, he seems average, he might even be an expert potter, or a doctor. He might play hackey sack-"

 

"Hackey what-?" Chuck paused, cautiously observing Jeff, unsure of his next move.

 

"But he's not one of us," Jeff continued, undaunted. "Our friend, Chuck, is actually the nefarious, villainous, utterly evil- Kite-Man."

 

Chuck and Blake looked at each other fearfully, dreading the outcry that was sure to follow, and then-

 

"Aww," Annie cooed.

 

"Oh, that's nice," Shirley agreed.

 

Chuck stared at them, completely dumbfounded. 'Did-? Did they hear him right?'

 

"No!" Jeff interrupted, his tone rising slightly. "Don't aww this average looking maniac! He flies kites of vengeance, and death, and-"

 

Chuck bows his head. The truth, was out. Time to rip the band-aid off. "Really, it's not like that," he explained. "I only became Kite-Man to avenge my son. And maybe, I got a little carried away. A little," he repeated nervously.

 

Again, both Annie and Shirley "Awwed" in unison.

 

"Not 'aww.' No!" Jeff panicked.

 

"Why are you complaining, Jeff?" Pierce asked obnoxiously. "I thought you'd be happy to have another gay to rub shoulders, or wieners, with."

 

Chuck opened his mouth to correct him, but quickly decided against it.

 

"Jeff, you're not jealous of Chuck are you?" Annie asked suspiciously.

 

"Of course he is," Abed said. "Chuck has a catchphrase. Jeff, does not. I told you to get on that," he advised Jeff.

 

"Real people don't have catchphrases, Abed. That's what I'm saying," Jeff complained.

 

"Chuck does. And it's awesome. Hell yeah," he whispered to Chuck, meant as a call of brotherhood and kinship.

 

"You know what else he has? Several acts of terrorism on his record," Jeff said, still trying to take control of the situation.

 

"Hey! Gross oversimplification. We're not terrorists," Mayo protested.

 

"Yeah, I resent that accusation," Blake agreed, arms folded. "We're career criminals."

 

Turning to Blake and Mayo now, Jeff continued his tirade. "And of course, that's not even going into his co-conspirators. You already know Condiment King of course," he said pointing to Mayo, who waved back at him obliviously, "But did you know about the knife wielding Ratcatcher and the blood curdling Catman?"

 

Troy turned to face Blake, awed. "Wait, you're Batman?"

 

"Catman," Blake corrected him, a note of ire in his voice.

 

"Oh. That's also cool, I guess," he responded, as he shifted in his seat, disappointed.

 

"So, Mitchell? Do you make your own sauces?" Shirley asked.

 

"Y'know, 14 years and you're the first person to ask me that question. Yes, I do," Mayo replied, a smug smile forming across his flabby face. As the group moved to sit at the Misfits table, asking them question after question, Jeff was left standing alone, in utter confusion. Defeated.

 

"Can I ask you, like, a personal question?" Troy said, leaning over to Blake.

 

Without waiting, he replied. "Eight inches."

 

"No, I meant- Wait really?" he asked, bewildered. "Nah, I was just gonna ask... What's Batman like?"

 

Blake looked around to make sure no one was listening, and murmured softly. "Honestly, he's kinda a dick."

 

Troy sighed, disappointed. "Damn... Thanks for being honest, man."

 

Day 9

 

Naturally, it didn't take long for news of the Misfits' presence to spread through Greendale. Though most people were unmoved by the arrival of these oddly dressed eccentricities, the same could not be said of Dean Pelton. Upon learning about the group of mysterious convicts attending his school, he made a beeline straight for his closet, and ran to the study room with superhuman speed.

 

"Hello, hello hello, I was told we had a couple of ex-cons among us," The Dean said excitedly, standing in the doorway, dressed in a policeman's cap and dark blue miniskirt. "Oh, hello, Charles," he winked at Chuck, who noted the Dean's bizarre outfit, and swallowed. 'Don't question it, Charles,' he sighed.

 

"Oh, that's it," Jeff called out from behind, as he threw his shirt aside, Annie catching it.

 

"I don't understand, why don't you like me? Is it the kites? It's always the damn kites..." Chuck muttered, as he followed suit, and slowly unbuttoned his sweater, laying it on the back of his chair, but otherwise, he remained fully clothed. Both Annie and the Dean looked at the pair, smiles on their faces.

 

"Why? Why?! I work out every day!" Jeff answered back. "What's your secret, kites?!"

 

The Dean paused, lowering his glasses. "Jeffrey, please, what is going on in here, and is there room for one more?"

 

Abed tapped him on the shoulder. "Oh, Jeff's just taking his feelings of inadequacy out on another handsome outsider. Now, Chuck, have you ever played paintball?"

 

"No?" he replied, confused.

 

"How about dungeons and dragon?"

 

"Um. Well, it depends on how literal you want to get," was his response.

 

Jeff scowled at Abed. "Are you actively replacing me right now?"

 

Abed cocked his head to one side. "Of course not, Jeff, you're just being paranoid. Chuck's just a back-up," he responded, as he turned back to quizzing him as though nothing had happened. "Now, have you ever been involved in a long winded love triangle between a bubbly overachiever, a moody activist and the occasional interloper?"

 

Chuck looked at him, at Jeff, and then at Annie and Britta. "That seems oddly specific. And no-?"

 

Abed gasped. "My god, he's perfect."

 

Britta turned to Abed. "Moody? I'm not moody!"

 

"Ehhh..." the study group collectively murmured to themselves.

 

"And I don't see what's wrong with hard work! Someone has to do it!" Annie replied, scornfully.

 

"Ladies, I don't make the tropes, I just point them out."

 

Now reaching a crescendo of discarded clothing and heated tensions, Blake, who really had no stake in the feud, but was eager to show off, dropped his own trousers to his ankles.

 

"So, where do we go from here?" Chuck asked, looking down at Blake's spotted underpants grimly.

 

"What are you talking about?" Jeff asked.

 

"Well, Abed said that the last time you were trapped in the study room, you stripped down, and that the time before that, you slept with someone."

 

"What are you trying to say-?" Jeff asked.

 

Chuck curled his lip and raised a suggestive eyebrow. "Well, Pierce did say you were gay-" he began, his eyes locked with Jeff's.

 

"I'm not gay! Abed stop telling him things! Why would you tell him about the pen, or me sleeping with Britta."

 

"Or you kissing Annie," Britta nodded.

 

"Or me kissing Annie," Jeff agreed.

 

Chuck stared at Jeff incredulously.

 

"I actually never told him that," Abed said.

 

"You didn't?" Annie asked, a little hurt.

 

"Sorry, Annie, I didn't think it was important," Abed shrugged.

 

Annie gasped. "It was important to me!" she protested.

 

"Abed!" Jeff snapped.

 

"It's narrative cohesion. It helps if he's familiar with our greatest hits, as it means we don't need to waste time clueing him in on references."

 

"Yeah, you guys had a gang war over chicken?" Chuck asked.

 

"And, in turn, I'm sure Chuck can bring us up to speed too."

 

Chuck scratched the back of his neck. "Actually, I don't know about that, it'd probably take 300 issues for something like that."

 

The group looked at him in confusion. Then Jeff spoke up again. "No," he shook his head. "There's no way I'm going to look like the bad guy here. They have killed people."

 

"Jeff, haven't you killed people?"

 

"Annie! Stress induced heart attacks do not count. God!" Jeff called out angrily, as sans shirt, he stormed out the room.

 

"So, I'm, uh, I'm just going to take these," the Dean announced, as he picked up Jeff and Chuck's abandoned clothes and left.

 

"That was my favourite sweater," Chuck sighed.

 

~

 

Sat hunched over the library steps, dressed in one of his many extra shirts, was Jeff. Approaching from the carpark, cigarette in hand, was the unmistakable, baggy-clothed, buck-toothed silhouette of Otis Flannegan.

 

"Truce?" he asked.

 

"Sure, as long as you don't try and stab anyone this time," Jeff replied dryly.

 

"Fair," Flannegan smirked, joining him on the stone steps. "You don't need to worry about Brown, neither. Guy got jilted by a plant woman for god's sake. He's a real Chuckold. Coined that," he proudly admitted.

 

Jeff nodded back, unsure how much of that was genuine, and how much of that was fiction perpetuated by Flannegan's declining mental state.

 

"Y'know, Karloff, it's funny," he continued. "I wish I could put as much effort into caring as you do, into pretending that you don't. Me? Me, i'm just here to get paid," he elaborated, as he patted Jeff on the back, and strolled away.

 

~

 

"This is my fault."

 

As Blake finished readjusting his pants, Abed turned back to the group, his mouth slanted down slightly. "I thought that inviting the Misfits into the study group would help to mix up our dynamic, in a good way, like adding Danny Devito to Always Sunny in Philadelphia, or Paul Rudd to Friends-"

 

"I didn't like that season-" Blake interjected.

 

"But now I realise it's more like adding Poochie to Itchy and Scratchy, or adding the entire cast of Scrubs Season Nine. That, sometimes, changing up a working formula only ends up alienating your existing audience and nearly getting you stabbed by a supervillain who smells of cheese."

 

Jeff stood in the doorway, his composure restored by Flannegan's gruff equivalent of a CW pep talk. "Abed's right. Sometimes, you can try and force a bunch of pieces together and they'll never fit, no matter how hard you try. Sometimes, you don't get a Paul Rudd. You get a Dave Franco. And Dave Franco, destroys everything he touches."

 

"Scrubs-?" Troy wondered.

 

"Booty-?" Mayo frowned.

 

"Zodiac Master," Blake said wistfully.

 

"Yes, maybe, and I don't know who that is," Jeff nodded.

 

"Ooh, I liked him in that Lego Ninjago Movie," Shirley declared.

 

The group all nodded half heartedly. "He was alright," Jeff concluded. "It was the Lego Ninjago Movie."

 

"Dunno about that," Mayo scoffed judgmentally. "Kinda a slap in the face to the original fans."

 

"And, that, is why Chuck has to go," Jeff concluded. "Isn't that right, Abed?"

 

Abed stared at him in confusion. "Oh, no, Chuck stays."

 

...

 

"But we probably shouldn't let Otis back in."

 

==Gotham City==

 

The White Mask walked by Jenna's side, guiding her along the street to her apartment, unaware of the figure watching them from across the road with growing interest. As they reached the top of the stairs, he moved in to kiss her, but she hesitated slightly, not sure if she were ready to move into another relationship so soon. He nodded in faux understanding and then, he cleared his throat. "So, Sionis, y'know- Black Mask, has invited me to his party at the Gotham Royal, and I was thinking... maybe you and I could go? Together? Y'know, like old times," he said, a hand on her shoulder. "There's a shifting power balance in Gotham, Jelly Bean, and I'd love for you to be there by my side when it does."

Jenna turned away from him, avoiding his gaze, as she reached into her purse, and unlocked the front door.

 

"Just you think about it, hm?" Franco urged her, as he turned back the way he came, whistling some kind of obnoxious pop song.

 

As he walked back to the car, Ted Carson struck, slamming him into the side of the Porsche with a loud clang. "What's your connection to Carpenter?" he demanded.

 

"Who the fuck-" Franco began, as he reached into his holster, and grabbed his gun. Carson ripped it from his hand, and emptied the clip onto the ground. "Do you know the Misfits? Do you know where they are?" he commanded, his temper rising.

 

"What the hell are the Misfits and what the hell are you?" Franco strained.

 

Behind his visor, Carson's eyes dilated. "Call me... Mothkiller," he grinned, loosening his grip on Franco.

 

"No, but seriously," Franco replied, dropping to the ground.

 

Carson's eyes narrowed, the light from the street lamp now illuminating Franco's face. "Hey, have I seen you in something? Scrubs, maybe?"

 

Franco straightened his tie, as he steadied himself. "Why do people keep asking me that? I'm her boyfriend, alright?" he scowled.

 

Carson took a step back, disappointed. "What, you? I know Duffy. She was dating Lynns like two weeks ago."

 

"Lynns?" Franco raised an irritated eyebrow. "Wait, the guy she's so hung up about is Firefly? She dated Firefly? Christ," he lamented. "Was I really that bad?"

 

Done