victory_road |

[Here, before your lovely eyes, is a man swaddled in a blue silk robe that looks expensive (and it probably is considering Lance has self-care spending problems) with a white towel wrapped perfectly around his head. His skin is a nicely sun-bronzed brown under the green stuff smeared all over it, a face mask concoction mixed up on Lance's own, but he grins at the camera as if he's dressed in his Sunday best.]

Hey guys! How's winter treating you? Actually, a better question is, how is winter treating your skin? Your hair? Are you taking care of them? Are you taking care of you?

[Lance shakes his head slowly, looking heartbroken over the likelihood too many of the trainers out there will say no.]

So here's my idea: something for those who want to learn the finer arts of self-care. Beauty. How to tell that cowlick to get the fuck out of here, you're messing up my selfies. A club kinda thing? Yes, we have spas here and as someone who's visited them all in my years here, they're... okay. But they aren't hitting the way I want them to. Plus they're expensive and I'm sure most of you guys won't want to drop that many Pokedollars on a one hour massage. Not to mention, they have to be intimidating if you don't know what you want or like. Trust me, I feel you.

How about it? A nice little gathering of likeminded souls who appreciate or want to appreciate pedicures and manicures and scalp massages in between all the Pokemon battling. People who want to learn how to make their own high quality deep conditioners from stuff found in their kitchen. People who are interested in learning how to moisturize not only their hands, but their elbows and knees and every other part of their body.

[The view quickly cuts to the side view of Lance who turns his head towards the second camera, eyes blazing with judgement, because of course he has a Staryutube type set up.]

Armin, I'm looking at you.

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No. This land must be cleansed of all demonic influenced shampoo.

[Then Lance's bedroom door busts open like the damn Pokemon FBI is doing a raid. Alas, it's not the authorities, just Blue on his way to snitch on his trainer. Here he is chittering and jabbering, waving his weird onion like hands around. He's clearly telling all of Shiro's business.]

Blue? When did you get back? If you're back, then... [A very long pause.] SHIRO!

[There is no escaping, sir.]

... Lance?

[Yep. He's been caught. In the act of climbing out the window to avoid the topic of peoples' sex lives.]

DON'T LANCE ME. HOW DARE YOU?

[Just sneaking through the window, huh, Shiro? As you should, considering Lance knows the shameful state of your hair fluff. Time to face the music.]

Why does Blue have to tell me you're home? Am I not important enough to say hello too?

[Please ignore him. He's just being dramatic and Blue is not helping which how he's absolutely encouraging his hero in the background.]

[Just let it out buddy. Just... let it out. While Shiro sits straddling the window-sil.]

[This is fine.]

I've barely been home... Blue ran off as soon as I walked in.

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