Xaviers!

Every band had different needs, and every musician had different preferences.

Will's solo act had gone down to London all by himself; he was a solo guitar player and didn't need much help. Shane's Will was still very much a work-in-progress, but he had been recruited for his musical talents.

Bitchcraft, on the other hand, was a different story. While Will had provided the wolves with some instruments as a Christmas gift, his services weren't in demand as a musician -- at least, that had been the impression he had gotten from talking to the Wolves as they had plinked and plunked their way through practices. In all honesty, Will was a little surprised they were performing anyway; he had begun to suspect "being in a band" was a euphemism for euphemistic activities, one they didn't particularly need a fourth wheel for anyway, but hey -- everyone can be wrong on occasion!

That's not to say Will wasn't involved. As part of their olive branch after one of the (far too many, he must admit) times he went off the reservation, Sam had expressed at least some interest in getting some help for the whole look and feel of the band defined. They hadn't spoken of it since then -- they had both been through Some Shit, and Will wasn't even 100% sure Sam remembered that conversation. But, still, not only did it give him a chance to be useful, it also was a good excuse to spend time with some of his favorite people on campus and listen to some sweet tunes. Hard to pass that opportunity up, at any rate.

All of this went a short ways to explaining why Will was in the room the Wolves shared, rummaging through their closets as if he had been invited to do so. Standing in the corner of the room were three mannequins, each shaped like one of the three members of The Pack, with various jackets, jeans and belts looped around, as Will looked over them with a critical eye. He tsked, flipped through a notepad, and scratched somethings out, making some doodles, as he went.

((Open to people who would have a reason to be there!))

Sam walks in, quirking a brow as she looks around.

"Bit of a... project, going on?"

"Ah, Sam! Thought you guys would be practicing for a bit longer," Will said, waving behind him without turning around right away. "I'll get out of your hair in a minute here."

"Taking a break. What's up?"

"Noticing a bit of a theme here," she says as she looks at the mannequins.

For a split-second, the Samannequin catches her eye, before going back to staring straight ahead.

"Just seeing what y'all have and what y'all need for the gig. I'm excited you guys are actually getting out and doing things! Should be good times," Will nodded.

"We figured a battle of the bands would be a good debut, aye?"

"Have a specific idea in mind?"

"There's a line," he said, tapping his lips. "A fine one. A line between costume and outfit. And, as much as you want to play into your Otherness, I don't think you want to become KISS up there, right? So it's a matter of accentuation and all that.

It's outside, too, so practical matters come into play. I hated outdoor gigs; the sun gets in your eyes, the wind can take your words away. Oh, maybe in California you can have a beachfront stand, but in London? No offense, Sam, but you islanders must be made of sterner stuff," he continued with a sigh.

"So show me what you've got, besides sunscreen."

"Right," Will nodded.

"First and foremost, I'm thinking leather -- padded leather, for comfort and warmth, but leather not withstanding," he began, as clothes shifted and formed on the three mannequins. "Studded leather up top -- sleeveless cut-offs, maybe; the better to show them guns. I'm a little torn on that as it doesn't show off the tats, but they're back tattoos anyway; I don't think you were planning on playing with your backs to the crowd.

Ripped jeans down below -- especially if any of you are going all wolvey. I don't know what your ideas are there, but fur poking through, as if barely restrained, seems like a potential winner among at least a certain brand of fan. Not sure about the judges, but hey, you know," he shrugged with a grin. "The winners of these things aren't always the winners, yeah? Could even rig 'em so they rip during a big powerful finale, though that may be a bit cheesy -- again, costume versus outfit, you know. I was still thinking denim--you could go with leather there again, but it's not particularly breathable, and it tends to ruche. I also think there's a line there somewhere between rock-star-attitude and bondage party, and I'm not sure you fall on the other side of that line. But then again, what do I know? I tend to lean towards Italian cuts and collarless blazers, and that's not right for you guys at all," he laughed. "Hell of a mental image, but nononono."

"Combat boots, obviously, as long as you're comfortable on the pedals with them. I don't know if you ever decided on the double-bass or not; you guys aren't really that kind of metal, though the option's always there. But 'combat' seems to be an obvious theme considering your whole, you know, youness. Looking like the three of you have come out of a fight, won, and are playing in celebration thereof fits the whole scheme."

He circled the mannequins again. "Accessories. I'm a big fan of collars, and it ties in with the canine theme, though it might be hideously insensitive and not always spotted by those at the back, anyway," he said, running a circle around the Theresquin's throat, a black leather collar appearing after his fingers. He looked at it for a moment, and frowned. "Maybe some silver highlights? Ehhh...table that one. Also depends if you want to tie in the whole 'Celtic war goddess' vibe you've got going on -- if you woad up, some might think you're just Mel Gibsoning. No one wants to be caught Mel Gibsoning. Belts; maybe something from the Liefeld line? I think I saw a couple things in your drawers that might work there."


He stood back, closed one eye, and squinted again at the trio of mannequins. "It's a start, at least. Not married to any of this, and it's your gig, naturally. Am I in the ballpark, or am I playing the wrong sport entirely?"

"I'm not going to speak for the others, but I do like the way you're thinking here."

Will nodded, smiling. "A bit 'Joan Jett coverband', maybe, but there's a legacy and a genesis to these things, and sometimes, tropes and cliches serve as shorthands, especially when you're trying to stand out in a lineup.

If you guys sound halfway good, you've got a chance," he joked.

"We've been practicing our arses off lately."

"Figuratively. You don't have to omit our arses in wardrobe."

"Oh, the Phantom Queen's got jokes, I see. Don't worry; your arses are in good hands."

"That's good," she chuckles, "I'm fond of those arses."

"Plus I'm in the back so I have to stare at them."

"And, at last, the reason for you encouraging Tereza to form a full band comes to light," Will laughed. "I told you the only reason people do this is to pick up chicks."

"That's so unfair. I'm not dating at least one member of the band."

"You're not dating at least one member of the band so far," Will 'corrected', jokingly, and then paused when he processed what Sam was actually saying.

"Wait, am I missing one, then?" he added, looking back at the mannequins. "Power trio becoming a quartet?"

"We found a bass player. Another werewolf, at that."

"Isolde? I never struck her for the musical type, unless the rattling of peasant children's bones counts."

"Stephanie? I think she's dating Tosh, so she's safe," she smirks.

"I'll be sure to send Tosh a condolences card," he laughed, heading out towards the mirror.

"'Dear Sharkman. We regret to inform you that your girlfriend has had a taste of divinity..."

"My confidence may be improving, but I think that's a bit beyond me," she chuckles.

"Hypnosis," he nodded, mock solemnly. "Telepathic invasion. Or maybe you just buy the really good Scooby Snacks"

Reaching into the mirror for a moment, Will pulled out...well, it was Stephanie, wasn't it? Or at least a relatively solid approximation, albeit one as glass-eyed and dazy as the three mannequins standing in Sam's room. Taking her by the hand, Will led her into the room to stand with the other three, trying to see the full effect.

"She might be a little less open to you raiding her closet."

Will waved his hand a little dismissively at that. "Maybe, maybe not; at the very least, I can figure out some vague basics for her to try to ape for herself, worst comes to worst."

He lined the Stephaquin up next to the other four, pausing for a moment, and then pulling her out a step forward, followed by the 'Tereza' and 'Viv', leaving 'Sam' in the back.

"Viv's the singer, right? She comfortable being the frontwoman? The booties in the room may rock to the bass, but the eyes always head towards the star."

"Aye, Viv's pretty ready for this. She's even the one who came up with the name."

"Vulgar, but attention getting. Not a terrible choice at all."

Will looked back at Sam for a moment, twitched in a slight frown for a second, and then adjusted 'Sam''s hair to better match reality.

"Striving for realism, are we?"

"Realism? Ehhh," Will said, shaking his hand in the universal sign for 'ehh'. "You have a more sparkling personality than this lot," he added, bopping the Samanequin on the head.

"But, like, you gotta get the basics right. If you were to shave your head before the performance, that would change the entire look. Maybe I'm being a bit of a perfectionist, but details matter, y'know?"