Scaramouche wakes up swearing. It only continues as she actually takes in her surroundings. And then she shuts up. "Have I actually been turned into a GaGa Girl?" she wonders aloud. To reassure herself, she stands up and peers down at her costume. Arm tie. Check. Skirt. Check. Red corset - squee! - check. So no. She's not been captured.
She goes to the door of the dressing room and sticks her head out. "Oy! Gazza! Are you here?"
To anybody giving her even the remotest strange look, she gestures eloquently with her hand, and snaps, "Do one!"
This Petty Place.
Scara doesn't do friends. It's not that she doesn't want to. It's just that every girl she knows is a brain dead, mindless sheep, humming the same sound, and clacking on about their identical makeup and hairdos.
So Scara sits back, openly hostile, with her arms folded and a deadly glare for anyone who so much as glances her way. As soon as anybody does approach, she bristles. "Go away - bitch."
Scaramouche - We Will Rock You
Scaramouche wakes up swearing. It only continues as she actually takes in her surroundings. And then she shuts up.
"Have I actually been turned into a GaGa Girl?" she wonders aloud. To reassure herself, she stands up and peers down at her costume. Arm tie. Check. Skirt. Check. Red corset - squee! - check. So no. She's not been captured.
She goes to the door of the dressing room and sticks her head out. "Oy! Gazza! Are you here?"
To anybody giving her even the remotest strange look, she gestures eloquently with her hand, and snaps, "Do one!"
This Petty Place.
Scara doesn't do friends. It's not that she doesn't want to. It's just that every girl she knows is a brain dead, mindless sheep, humming the same sound, and clacking on about their identical makeup and hairdos.
So Scara sits back, openly hostile, with her arms folded and a deadly glare for anyone who so much as glances her way. As soon as anybody does approach, she bristles. "Go away - bitch."