the lines are drawn; this is getting worse. (open to rogue)
There was nothing so glorious in the world of sports as a Lakers victory. It was a fact. Proven with science. So of course Jubilee was going to bring Rogue along when she was invited to a Lakers party, because it was also a fact (proven with science) that she and Rogue were straight thuggin' for life. Jubilee wasn't going to go to a party without her. Even if she had to make excuses for Rogue's Mississippi State hoodie ("She's retarded; don't mind her. LAKEEEEEEEEEEEERS!!") and throw a drink in some guy's face when he thought it prudent to try and hit on her be-layered friend. WHATEVER.
But now they were in the post-party glow, on their way back to the hotel, the sound of parties still going humming away in the background. People drifted around them in clusters, giggling and laughing; another group of Lakers fans in jerseys and tee-shirts was hollering loudly across the street. Jubilee, for her part, was skipping along, having acquired a pack of Sour Punch Straws from somewhere in the party, and was gnawing on them loudly and happily --
When they were so rudely interrupted by the sounds of laughing and whimpering as they passed an alley between shops. Jubilee paused mid-skip and stepped back a few paces to stare, unabashedly, at two guys and a girl beating the crap out of some kid. None of the party seemed to notice her, half a sugar-covered candy straw in her mouth, her lips thinning and eyes narrowing, until she shouted, more loudly than was necessary: