FicWad

The author sits alone in an empty room. She waits for the order from her boss to tell her who to watch next, but it never comes. Where is he?
She doesn’t know what his name is, but she knows he’s big, bad, and slightly murdery.
Blowing air out the side of her mouth, she knows she should probably focus in on Ficwad. After all, the girl’s in trouble, or will be soon, with that game! But it would feel wrong to go on without looking at poor PoMo! He’s a good guy! Nice, even!

Turning to the third wall-there are four surrounding her, and each wall shows a different character-she does a quick zoom-in on Pottermore. A quick look couldn’t hurt, right?

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I bloody well wish I lived in England. I don’t. I live in sodding Pasadena Cali-fucking-fornia, thanks much, love. Everyone cool lives in England and everyone who’s a snot lives in Pasadena. I live here in a Penthouse with me mum. It’s a big flat, too, and I really like it, since I can do whatever I want long as I don’t wreck nothing.
“Hey, PoMo? Honey? Can you take out the trash on your way out?” my mum calls.
“Alright, yeah!” I call back. I’m procrastinatin’ going to school. I hate school. Lots of scummy people go to my school and they don’t like me much.
My mum puts up with me, though. Her name is Dot, and she works at Warner Brothers. Running joke between us is that she’s the unofficial Warner Sister.

My mum’s got blonde hair and really skinny legs, even more proof that I’m adopted. Chubby and ginger and glasses, where the bloody hell did that come from? Weird genes there, mate.
Throwing the garbage into the chute down the hall (damn thing used to scare me when I was little-thought there were monsters in there that ate the garbage) and catch the elevator.

The walk to school’s nothing special in itself, it’s the people there that make it so memorable. They’re all gits and tarts, every last one of them. Wish I could just make them all go away. Sodding Pasadena.
It’s not that I’m bollocks at maths and stuff-I’m brilliant. I don’t have any real friends, I mean, I’ve got a few, but they don’t acknowledge me during school, or stand up for me during those stupid sparring matches with every other Neanderthal Man that gallumphes my way.
“Hey! Hey! Wizard boy! Look out, guys! He’ll put a spell on you!”

Oh my God. Not this shite again. Look, I still believe in magic, okay? Why’s that such a big deal? Magic happens! Call it miracles or fate or whatever, but please please stop calling me a wizard, you’re making everyone around you dumber.
Getting shoved flat on my face is another matter. The braying laughter is, again, expected. Sure, push the pudgy pale kid who sunburns like it’s an olympic sport flat on his arse! Hilarious! God, shut up and get a job instead of a trust fund, why don’t you.
Wish some of me Internet Friends went to my school. Youtube's my favourite girl. She's got her own problems and such, but she's good people! And once she told me she's got white-blond hair, and she hardly ever talks about herself.
Pushing my face outta the dirt, I wipe off my glasses, pick up me books, and head off to biology, ignoring the comments, the insults, and outstretched legs aiming to trip me up.

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The Author takes a step back. What? Why hasn’t PoMo talked to anyone? He was so happy for everyone else. In his baggy pants and T-shirts and always staring at the ground, poor guy, who could possibly do something like this to him?
Feeling a flash of righteous indignation, The Author flicks through images. Pottermore finding out about Homestuck and how it would destroy the world, sending him on an adventure through time and space. Being too shy to ask any of his friends to server player it for him. Writing an article about how awesome the game was so it’d appear in Ficwad’s newsfeed. (Sneaky bastard!)
Agreeing to Server Player her so he’d get into the game for sure. Kid’s got an ace up his sleeve, that’s for G.D. sure.
Turning around to face the second wall, The Author focusses back in on Ficwad.