Meanwhile, at the MASR office...
M: Oh hey! Heeeeeey! Hang on, I've got an interracial voice...
S: I noticed.
M: Wanna eat some pizza?
S: I enjoy pizza. And eating. It's a win-win situation.
- This is your conscience.
M: Did you hear something?
S: Actually, yes.
M: Hang on a minute, guy. Whoever you are, you can't be my conscience if we can both hear you.
- But what about all the people in the hallways? They can't hear you.
M: Hey! DID YOU HEAR SOMETHING?
D: I didn't hear anything. Surely you must be going insane. Well I never. Gehehehehehe.
S: Is it just me or does his initial make a frowny face?
M: Stop looking at the text! We need to figure out who this guy is and why no-one else but us can hear him.
- Well, that's simple. My name is Frank
Synopsisand I hold the conscience to the both of you. My job is to establish your sense of morals and values in the present by learning from mistakes of the past and such.
S: This is stupid. How do we learn from mistakes of the past? We're teenagers.
- Indeed, that's also simple. I will make you time travellers, ahoy!
S: Ahoy?
M: Whatever, just make it quick.
[two milennia later]
S: Well, that was easier than I expected.
M: Are you serious? We almost got killed!
S: We almost got what?
M: Screw it, let's get pizza.
S: Herp derp.
Meanwhile, at the original Bubs MASR office...[edit | edit source]
M: Oi! Oi'm Bri'ish!
S: And for an extremely uncomfortable pubescent teen boy, I sound surprisingly suave.
M: You be suave, eh?
S: Apparently so. And you're a rather stereotypical depiction of a cockney Brit.
M: No oi'm not. Oi barely know anything abou' Bri'ain.
S: Of course you don't, Mona. Of course you don't.
M: You be callin' me Mona?
S: Yea... isn't that your name?
M: Don't call me Mona, call me-
- It's about time I intervened before things got a little heated.
M: But moi name is not Mona!
S: Can't you just be quiet for a second?
- Looks like we have a bit of role reversal with our characters here. Will things go the way your fans have planned?
M: Fans? Wha' fans?
- You have an unsettling amount of shippers on your hands. I should deal with them eventually. Send them to deal with some of the royals, maybe? Maybe this will explain things better for you.
Meanwhile, at the actual MASR office...[edit | edit source]
S: Where the hell is homeroom?
M: I'm bleedin'
S: D:
M: What'd that guy say?
S: Nothin'
M: I'm still bleedin'
S: Here, let me take you to the nurse's office. MOVE MOVE MOVE! GO GO GO!
[Meanwhile Later, at the nurse's office]
S: I think it's probably better now.
M: I don't care for homeroom. Can we actually go home?
S: Can I walk you there?
M: Eugh, okay.
[later]
S: Hey, look, there's your house.
M: Well I'll see you tomorrow, I guess-
- I felt the need to interrupt this, guise. This should explain itself.
M: But it doesn't!
- What do you mean, it doesn't? Read the fanfic!
M: There are fanfics of us?
S: There are too many fanfics called Sickly Sweet anyways.
- Deal with it, punk. Don't make me send you to the 18th Century again.
M: Alright, alright, fine-
TL;DR
FOREIGN CONTAMINANT SIXTWENTYSIX