#mpd logan

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“Dearest,” said Logan plaintively.

“No,” said Virgil, crossing his arms and leaning bodily back from Logan’s front door. “You sounded way too excited for me to open the door and that means explosions and that means no way, no how, nuh-uh for me, no thank you.”

Logan, who could recognize that Virgil was mostly being dramatic for comedic effect to alleviate his own anxiety, sighed fondly.

“Virgil,” he laughed, “please come into the house.”

“You’ll never take me alive.”

“You are small enough,” said Logan idly, “I might be able to bodily carry you.”

Virgil snorted.

“You can barely carry your half of the groceries.”

“I would hardly describe it as ‘my half,’” replied Logan, “I get perhaps three kinds of instant meal and condiments. Except for whatever vegetables you manage to sneak into my bags, since you so passionately prefer them to rot in my crisper rather than yours.”

“You’re supposed to eat them, L!”

“Come in,” said Logan, barely holding back a grin, “and you can make me eat one of the vegetables.”

Virgil glared for several seconds before aggressively throwing his hands in the air.

“Fine, fine! In we go to the death trap.” he groused, walking under Logan’s arm as Logan opened the door.

“SURPRISE!”

“Aaaaaaaa!” Virgil screamed, diving behind Logan.

“While I would not characterize it as ‘deadly,’ yes, it was a trap,” laughed Logan, moving Virgil around in front of him. “Happy Birthday, dearest.”

“I hate you all,” said Virgil, a lacework of hysterical laughter flirting around the edges of his voice, “you bastards.”

“I told you he’d hate the yelling,” scolded Patton playfully.

“That’s what makes it fun!” said Remus, bounding over to pull Virgil toward the wall of clothing Virgil was staring at, wide-eyed.

“It’s not a true birthday party unless you hate it just a little bit,” said Roman sagely, “like putting salt on chocolate.”

“What is all of this?” said Virgil incredulously, running his hands over the soft black fabrics that lined the wall.

“We pooled in on one present!” said Patton, bouncing over and wrapping his arm around Virgil’s and hugging him. “We rented as many black costumes as the costume shop would let us.”

“The intention is that you’re going to treat us like lifesize dolls,” said Devin dryly, “so you wouldn't have to have all the attention on you. But if you would rather perform a fashion show of one, we will of course enjoy it just as well.”

“No way,” said Virgil, shuddering a little even as he was grinning, “but I will absolutely have a hell of a time dressing all of you up. I need pompous royal shit for Roman first-”

“Hey!”

Virgil disappeared in a whirl of fabrics, tossing them with gleeful direction at the five of them while giving them playfully imperious orders.

They went through several outfits and variations on them apiece. Virgil finally settled on one for each of them, and Logan found himself having more fun than he’d thought he would.

Virgil seemed to have gone in the “mad wizard” direction for him... a crisp black shirt and ascot under a form-fitting vest was paired with gloves and a pair of rather steampunk goggles on his head. A duster that Logan suspected was substituting for a lab robe was worn over that.

Virgil had gone in the fairytale direction for Roman and Remus, but he obviously hadn’t actually meant to make fun of Roman. Remus’s was looser, more flowing, some of the pieces askew and making him look rather roguish, while Roman looked – almost shockingly – severe and cold in perfectly pressed and poised, head-to-toe jet. Virgil had even done a quick sweep of make-up, paling Roman and painting his lips to match his blood red hair (grumbling about how Roman was “too ugly for his vision” but clearly delighting in Roman’s entire costume). The effect was rather vampiric.

To Devin, he’d gone fully Victorian, shyly holding up a bustle that Devin had snatched up with glee. Virgil declared him to look “like a nineteenth-century widow who most definitely killed her husband” and Logan couldn’t help but agree.

Virgil had saved Patton for last, which Logan at first assumed was because he would be the most difficult – Patton warmly tan skin and woodsy curls and apple cheeks did not, on Logan’s first instinct, lend themselves to goth fashion.

But it soon became clear that Virgil had saved him for last because he had the most fleshed out ideas for him – Virgil flicked through the clothes, muttering, looking for specific things where he’d taken the inspiration from the clothes he saw to the rest of them.

Finally, Virgil stepped back from doing Patton’s makeup fully, and nodded, showing Patton to the mirror.

Virgil had dove back into the fantasy clothing, in a more whimsical direction from Roman and Remus. Patton was layered in skirts and gowns of silvery tulle, his makeup accentuating his freckles with glitter. He did look like some kind of deceptively cherubic dark fairy, and Logan considered himself somewhat more of an expert on the subject than most.

Roman made a big show of falling to his knees solemnly.

“Dear one,” he said, holding his hand out beseechingly, “I swoon of your beauty!”

“Yeah, yeah, break it up,” said Virgil, shooing him with his foot and wrapping Patton in an embrace. “It’s my birthday, I have dibs on all the baby brother time I want.”

“Virgil!” whined Patton, half laughing, “I’m not a baby!”

“Baby to meeeee,” said Virgil, squeezing him hard and then abruptly switching to noogie-ing him.

“Off, off-off-off, you meanie-!”

“Wrestliiiiiiing!” shouted Remus, yanking off his shirt and diving into the “fray.” Roman followed immediately, because the twins shared a collective three brain cells.

“Rather silly, aren’t they?” he said, sotto voce, to Devin, who gave him a deadpan look.

“Please,” said Devin, “I am the only voice of reason here. If this were intellectual chicanery, you would be right there with them.”

“But it is not,” said Logan reasonably, “so I get points.”

“No you don’t.”

“Unfair parameters.”

“Cope.”