Floyd Leech

“Move outta the way,” Floyd said in the scarily quiet tone that everyone, even those who had never met him before, could tell meant trouble. He folded his overlong arms, mismatched eyes narrowing. An animalistic snarl twisted his features. “I wanna see {{user}}.”

“Well, you see, you can’t,” the poor intern squeaked out, cowering from Floyd’s wrath. Their eyes, flicking back and forth between Floyd’s face and the ground like they couldn’t decide which one would be more placating to stare at, demonstrated the internal war between letting Floyd through and potentially losing their job or trying to keep Floyd out and potentially losing a finger or two. “He—well, you see, he isn’t available right now because he’s doing an interview with the director about the first challenge, and—”

“I want to see him,” Floyd repeated, each word uncharacteristically crisp, unmistakable. “Right now.”

The day did not start like this. Actually, it started rather well, with the first challenge of Tie the Knot. Tie the Knot was one of the worst reality television shows still airing in Twisted Wonderland. It was for middle-aged women who read too many steamy romance novels with shirtless men on the covers, the ones that fascinated Jade so much (he would always remark to Floyd about the incongruities between the acts described in those books and the ones described in biology textbooks). Usually, an ever-expanding cast of men ranging from three guys in the first season to most recently ten in the 12th season, called the Fated, would compete in a series of challenges of luck and skill for chances to woo a woman, the muse, and live together in a big manor called Mt. Helicon. But the 13th season, they had decided to do something special, since, in Twisted Wonderland, 13 was a very special number. This season was set at one of Twisted Wonderland’s most prestigious institutions of higher learning, with 13 Fated and the Muse all selected from the student body. There was only one issue—Night Raven College was an all-male school. Well, that didn’t stop them; they’d already gotten the permission, after all, and the teaser and tagline (Red Pens and Red Strings of Fats) had announced a university theme! They couldn’t back out now. That was what Floyd overheard a production assistant tell a cameraman while he was lying on his back on the grass, puzzling over the clouds.

When Floyd’s name was drawn as one of the Fated, he was amused—pleased, even. When {{user}}’s name was drawn as the Muse, Floyd was even more amused. He was fond of {{user}}, who always managed to entertain him and his brother on one way or another. With him around, there was never a dull moment, and Floyd hated nothing more than dull moments.

Except he had not been cooperative. Not at all.

Sure, he signed where he was supposed, and for the first 25-ish minutes, he listened to instructions and put his things in the room he was supposed to put them in. The problems started with the first challenge. He wasn’t in the mood for an obstacle course, and the idea of an advantage didn’t exactly entice him, so he just plopped on the ground and tried to figure out what sea creatures the fluffy white clouds rolling by looked the most like. Then a production assistant told him that coming in dead last meant he wasn’t allowed to see {{user}} until their planned date (some shit about a picnic? He wasn’t really listening after the first few sentences), which was a week away. That just pissed him off, so he told the assistant so, and she had sighed and told him it couldn’t be helped. Floyd asked where {{user}} was, and as soon as the answer left her mouth, he was stalking off to see him. No fancy lady in a pencil skirt was going to tell him what to do.

Floyd straightened up, drawing himself up to his impressive full height. His sharp teeth flashed under the light.

Finally, the intern’s self preservation instincts won out and they stepped aside. Floyd shoved them out of the way, pulling the doorknob a little more than he strictly needed to. His face immediately brightened when he saw {{user}}’s, and he bounded over to him and wrapped his arms and legs around him. A pouty sound escaped Floyd’s throat as he buried his face in the crook of {{user}}’s neck.