----The Soap Opera of the Slippery Pole: Dancefloor Edition----
I: Birth and Death in the Same Episode

Christmas Break was slowly approaching, and Isabella Montgomery did NOT want to be doing trigonometry, especially with this most awful teacher, Mr. Ateroostas. She would have much rather been alone at home, contemplating life and drawing depressing things... or, of course, just going out skating with her friends Ivy and Tori.

But as always, Christmas Break could never come soon enough. It was only October, after all.
And with her principal's last educational decree, Isabella no longer looked forward to a vacation. Because, the school had recently undergone new management...

The last principal of the school, Evanidus Evans had been a wonderful character, an impartial judge, and was actually liked by students and staff alike.
Near the end of the summer, he had, however, been found tragically ex-extant. He was found with a large quantity of blood splattered throughout most of the kitchen. It looked remarkably unpleasant, as if someone had bashed him over the head with the flat of an axe, or with a baseball bat.
Though the exact cause of death was unknown, it was put down as suicide by the CSIs. There was, after all, a bottle of orange juice on the counter close to where he was found dead.
"Concentrate" was written on the label of the bottle - and after following that direction for a half-hour, the investigators realized that one could die from an aneurysm from doing this for an extended period of time. The blood-drenched paperweights found near Evans' head were declared insignificant for the investigation.

Naturally, the gorey nature of his death shocked the staff, so they did their best to hush it up. However, no suitable principal was to be found.
With one week until term started, the school board of St. Sourira-du-Lac and its surrounding towns dispaired over finding a suitable replacement. And finally, he came, right in the nick of time.

In the fall, the students were told that Mr Evans had retired to a lovely beach-house on the sunny coast of France. As for his replacement...

Evasto Pecco was his name, and his origins were just as mysterious as the meat served in the school's cafeteria. At first, he seemed to be a wonderful addition to the school. But as fans of Disney and Michael Jackson know, appearances can be deceiving. Well, OK, not in the case of Michael Jackson, but the Disney point still stands.

After an unventful first week of school, Mr. Pecco has started taking matters into his own hands. He set several harsh decrees right off the bat:

Saturday became an official school day for detentions and remedial work for everyone who rubbed the principal the wrong way. A great number of students attended school every Saturday.

Mr. Pecco also allowed teachers to humiliate and punish their students in any way they wished. All of the evil, newly-hired staff wholeheartedly followed these decrees. For, every single teacher who protested against this unfair treatment of youth had been immediately fired and replaced by a remarkably untalented but suspciously draconian teacher.

Finally, school uniforms became mandatory. They were modeled after the Japanese middle-school fuku, and turned every female who didn't want to wear a shapeless shirt and baggy pants (and who couldn't sew an extra few inches of fabric onto the bottom of the skirts) into a very open target for just about every male in Eastern canada. The fact that the school had recently become perpetually overheated, even in the winter, didn't help much.
The boys didn't complain.

After several more equally harsh decrees, including the shortening of lunch break and the installment of the health-food-only option in the caf, most of the students had (figuratively) collapsed. The newest decree - that Christmas Break was NOT to be used as vacation, but as a time to do 2 hours of homework every day, for every class, was cruel and unusual, but as always, there was no way to argue against Mr. Pecco.
Anyone found talking loudly in the hallways, whispering during class, or so much as breathing while the teacher was speaking suffered the consequences. Students couldn't even express their hatred the principal and his cronies outside of class, for fear of being overheard.

But worst of all, Evasto Pecco governed the media. By controlling what was broadcasted from within the school - the school paper, the radio station, and even the school's website - Mr. Pecco guaranteed that parents wouldn't know what was going on. They all thought their children were lying because they disliked this new, well-rated, new-age principal, or were over-reacting to a much less dramatic situation.

By the time September was over, the entire school was under Pecco's control, and there was nothing that ANYONE could do about it.

It was now the first week of October, and things already couldn't get much worse.

Isabella chewed on one of her perpetually-stinging, barely existant fingernails, thinking of the horrors that had been overwhelming the school .
It was infuriating, really... how absolutely everyone with the power to make people aware of what was going on refused to take action. All the remaining teachers were terrified of both Principal Pecco and his Servants of Doom.
Not even the formerly sweet, loving, and compassionate Vice Principal, Mrs. Sinclair - mother of Isabella's friend Ivy - dared to take a stand against him. Like the rest of the staff, she knew what had become of good ol' Mr. Evans, and had a clear idea of who the culprit behind his killing was.

The most horrible thing for Isabella was that this math teacher of hers, Mr. Ateroostas - one of the new recruits, of course - was bringing her math mark down. She wondered what her rocket-scientist mother would say, or whether she and her high-tech electronics designer husband would actually care at this point.

Things had gotten completely out of hand, she mused sadly, there must be a way...

Something had to be done. And so, a rebel was born.

----The Soap Opera of the Slippery Pole: Dancefloor Edition----
II: Three's Not a Crowd, but Five is Pushing the Limit.

The library at Sourira Park Secondary School used to be a place bustling with activity, in every corner of its Parisian-style architecture and furnishings.
Students would lounge about on the beach loungers, talking about the latest episode of Alias, or an upcoming hockey game.
"Regulars" gathered around the small bistro-esque tables, sipping their morning coffee and reading the newspaper.
Those who had free periods would often spend most of their time reading or doing homework there.
It was like a miniature town.

However, the quiet, bespectacled librarian, Mrs. Featherquill, resigned before the term had begun. She alone seemed to have predicted what would soon become of the school.

Evil teacher's college graduates generally choose to become algebra, physics, or Canadian History teachers. But who'd ever had terror instilled in their soul by an Evil Librarian?

Luckily, this chapter has nothing to do with Featherquill, which is a very good thing, because the lady was more uninteresting than month-old bread - and NOT the kind with mould growing on it, the kind that's as hard as a rock. This chapter's actually about someone who happens to be in the library at this particular moment in time, so the setting was introduced first. And now, back to our story.

With Featherquill gone, the library's indigenous population had dispersed, and the library had became a ghost-town.

This was all good news for Isabella, because what she was planning on doing would likely get her expelled if she was found out.

She looked around nervously at three of her fellow students - a pale-faced asian girl with an air of curiosity about her, a blond boy, and a curvy chataine-haired girl, sitting around one of the darling wrought-iron cafe tables. A newspaper was neatly placed in the center of their table.

"Is there anyone else here, Tori?" she asked in a voice much softer than the situation called for.

"Other than Mary, no," responded the girl whose name was Tori, in a calming voice.

She looked like most multi-racial Asians, with one, rather noticeable exception; her almond-shaped eyes were a very pale blue; the sort of colour one would see perhaps in someone of Dutch or French ancestry.

Tori pointed across the expansive room to where a small blonde girl was sitting on a couch completely absorbed in a very large book.

Isabella nodded in approval and said, "she can't hear us from all the way there. It's impossible. Keep her in sight, and if she comes near, we change the subject to the hockey.
"Now," she said, in a more businesslike tone, "have you noticed that this year, our school's gone from mildly annoying to psychologically disturbing and just plain shitty?"

Three sets of eyes rolled at her. The owners of the eyes said nothing, but gave her contemptuous looks. Tori waggled her eyebrows. They were all waiting for her to continue.

"Well," she said, "the reason for - why I asked you guys to meet me here, I mean, I know you're my friends, you can keep a secret, but I wanted to talk to you inprivate, because I had an idea-"

"No shit, sherlock," interjected the chataine-haired girl, "We sorta got that from the whole secret meeting in the abandoned library bit-"

Speaking loudly over her friend, Isabella said, "Enough, Ivy. Here it is. The school's fucked, yes?"

"Of course, THIS-", she said, pointing at the school newspaper, "is complete rubbish. The poor saps who run it spend more time flattering the system than they do writing worthy articles. And if you hadn't noticed, our school radio has lately been nothing but gossip, flattery, and overplayed music."

Ivy, Tori, and the blond boy looked a bit skeptical for a moment, until this novel idea had completely sunk in.

With a broad grin, Ivy said, "Brilliant! I can take photos for this newspaper, and maybe become a radio personality or something!"

Tori, too, looked excited at the prospect of this underground rebellion. "I want to help with everything! I can do the radio, become a journalist, and help moderate the forum!" she said, excitedly.

The boy didn't look so convinced. In a gentle and kind voice, he asked, "Isabella, I know that you're genius, and you could tackle anything you wished on your own, but... do you think that maybe this time-"

"I'm in over my head?" Isabella's face remained empty of emotion.

"Well, I didn't mean it like that, but - yes, that's it. I just don't see how this could work out, how we could stay anonymous."

"That part I'm working on. The simplest way is to make up nicknames and try not to be seen gathering stories. Ideally, we'd have someone from every sector: the intellectuals, musicians, atheletes, parliament, and so on. That way, it would be less risky for us to gather information. As it is, it's just the four of us, and I'd like it to stay that way."

The blond boy - Rowan - looked slightly mollified. But he hesitated only for a moment before saying, "Then, I'll do everything, like Tori."

Isabella almost smiled this time, and said, "Everything but moderating, Rowan. If I recall correctly, you only ever got ONE C. EVER. And that was in last year's computer class. I think I can handle the administration, along with managing and leading this paper, radio, and forum. PRF, for short. Which, by the way, we need REALLY need a name for..."

Ivy interrupted her, saying very quickly, "Mary's coming our way! Hockey! Hockey!"

"SO! That game last night was pretty amazing, was it not? I was impressed at how well the winners performed..." said Isabella, as Mary walked right past their table. Softly, the small blonde girl said, "I'd like to be a journalist for your shadow newspaper,"

There was silence in the library for almost an entire minute. At first, everyone was shocked to realize that her hearing was almost but not quite superhuman. Then, the shock that little, timid Mary wanted to be a part of a rebel group, - knowing fully well the consequences of being discovered - took over. Finally, Isabella, Ivy, Tori, and Rowan began mentally considering her writing talents, her ability of maintaining secrecy, and finally, whether she would be at all useful to the PRF. Everyone turned to face Isabella, waiting for her to make the final decision.

Finally, she spoke.

"Welcome to the Shadow PRF team, Mary."

----The Soap Opera of the Slippery Pole: Dancefloor Edition----
III: A Walk on the Wild Side.

"C'mon!" said Isabella excitedly, dragging Ivy down Park Street, a road that Ivy had no intention of being on in the first place, "It'll be fun! A real adventure! A walk on the wild side!"

Ivy stopped, sneezed, and pulled Isabella to face her.
"Bella, when I agreed to go clubbing with you, I did NOT agree to visit a gay nightclub on a gay street filled with gay people. Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course. "

"But Ive! Please! We can dance to the thumpa thumpa beat at TSP and check out really cute gay boys without any of them hitting on us!" Looking around, she said mumbled to herself, "Now, was it a left on La Rue Maudite?"

"That's not a good enough reason," said Ivy with a note of anxiety in her voice, "Besides, we're not.. GAY. And shouldn't we be working on the PRF right now?

"It's only taking one, well-deserved night off. The PRF is well on its way to being a reality... Shadow News comes out next week if Tori, Rowan, and Mary come through, and if we somehow get enough money, Shadow Radio will be on the air, the shadow forum and live chat will be up, and ShadowPRF.com will be there to tie everything together."

A gaggle of giggling lesbians passed by Isabella and Ivy, whistling. One of them called out to Ivy, "Cute ass, honey!"
Ivy paled.

"Alright, alright. But about Mary! How do we know we can trust this girl? That she's not spying on us, that she's genuinely in it for truth, justice, and revenge against the system? We know as much about Mary as we do about - about the gestation period of the thick-tailed bushbaby."

"132 days. I think we can trust Mary. Everyone has their secrets, but I know how she thinks. She's not afraid to ... rat us out, that's not what stopped her doing it from the start. No... I think she really wants to do this. She wants liberty, too. And, I must say, that's a good motto: truth, justice, and revenge."

But WHY do we have to dress like THIS?!" She sneezed again, and rubbed her eyes, trying not to smear her carefully applied eyeshadow, "I'm sure every lesbian in the place will be cruising you, and... well, whatever sort of person digs transvestites will be after me!"

Ivy had a valid point with the outfits. Several hours before setting out on their adventures (after having finally persuaded Ivy to go), Isabella had taken a series of incredibly old clothes and quickly transformed them into club-wear for the two of them. Ivy had her doubts about the sort of club they'd be in ever since Isabella showed her the completed costumes...

Ivy's consisted of a 5-inch-long miniskirt, two layered skintight tops, thigh-length fencenet leggings, striped grey socks, a tacky heart necklace, and a myriad of assorted pastel bracelets. Ivy swapped one of the pirate socks with a tartan-coloured one, for a personal touch. Her makeup...well, there's no word for it.

Isabella's outfit was even more bizarre, if possible. She had combined an old cap-sleeved blouse with a fishnet shirt for a top, and wore very cute pink underwear, fencenets, thigh-high blue-and-orange striped socks, a tacky star necklace, multicolour sex-bracelets, and finished the look with tall clunky gothic lace-up boots. She had also teased out her hair pink-streaked brown hair in a very gothic lolita way.

Whatever Isabella's reasons were for dressing herself and her friend as strippers remained hidden, until Ivy finally gave in and let herself be dragged down a charmingly seedy street, and into the waiting line for a nightclub that proclaimed itself as "The Slippery Pole". The line wound around the unremarkably building that was the Slippery Pole.

"Isa..." she said slowly, pointing far down the line to the entrance to the Slippery Pole, "why's there no line to get into the door on the left? It's still part of this... place, but it looks so run-down." The line was starting to shorten, and Ivy sneezed again, muttering, "Damn allergies.."

Her pink-streaked friend shrugged. "That's the bar of the same name. They're connected, I think - but it's mostly the cast-offs that frequent the place. I've heard it gets pretty busy after working hours, lots of colourful characters, too. Well, it's definitely got a charming seediness about it." winking, she added, "but the twinks are in the nightclub, not the bar. So to the club we shall go!"

Looking down at her hooker-ish getup, Ivy sighed. "You never cease to surprise me, Bella. We're honest-to-god ravers now. Minus the club drugs, of course."

Grinning, Isabella handed her drag-queen-impersonating friend a small white pill. Ivy made a choking sound and furiously whispered, "ISA! WHERE THE HELL DID YOU GET THAT? SINCE WHEN DO YOU DO E? And... where have you been keeping it? You have no pockets..." in a louder voice, she exclaimed, "I say NO to your drugs, miss Isabella Montgomery!"

Miss Isabella Montgomery rolled her eyes. "Hon, it's Allegra. You don't want to be sneezing all over the pretty boys now, do you?"

----The Soap Opera of the Slippery Pole: Dancefloor Edition----
IV: The O'Connells.

The O'Connell family - Irish-American Republicans - lived in an average house that one would expect a middle-class family to live in. Mr. and Mrs. O'Connell both drove average cars, and looked like an average happy and loving Irish couple with four average Irish children.

Mr. O'Connell - Patrick, or Patty - had red hair, green eyes, a pale complexion, many freckles, and a very thick accent. He was a singer in the mildly popular band, "The Pub Brawlers", for which he had composed many-a song, the hit being "I drink drink drink 'til I drop drop drop". He was often found at the bar of The Slippery Pole, polishing his various weapons and planning on how to track and locate his "clients". He told people that he was employed by the IRS, but this was a more dastardly profession than his real one.

Mrs. Eileen O'Connell was a cheerful lady who always wore her family-crest-emblazoned beret over her short and curly blonde hair. She worked at a store that made curtains - tartan-patterned curtains, to be precise. She was admirably skilled at cooking, cleaning, raising children, and gun maintenance. She was also a devoted advocate of The Cause

Narbflaith and Mairin were the youngest children, Narb in middle school, still coming to terms with her dreadful name and Mairin finishing elementary school. They were both squishy and adorable - perfectly healthy, extroverted girls, despite their older siblings' early attempts to make the young girls more like them.

Morrigan and her twin brother Ariel were the oldest O'Connell children. In this role of responsibility, they made sure that their younger siblings' minds were molded to their liking by the age of three. However, since Morrigan tried to make her little sisters into girly rap-star wannabes, and Ariel wanted them to become quiet, intelligent, and strong rebels like him, the two young girls somehow ended up perfectly normal.

Morrigan was a bright and vivacious curly-haired strawberry-blonde with spicy green eyes, named after the Queen of Fairies. Though she was a junior in the same school as her twin brother, they had very little in common, both physically and socially. Morrigan loved soccer and was very much into the hip-hop scene, currently dating the lady's man, Mista Zitman - a break-out rap artist a grade above her. Her slightly eccentric family annoyed her, and she was constantly fighting with her best friend, Crystal Benton.

Ariel was devilishly good looking, with ginger hair, bright blue eyes, and an air of stiff elegance about him. He had a strong jaw and sharp, high cheekbones, and was friendly and fun, though he didn't laugh very often. His medium-length hair (much too long, his mother constantly reminded him) came down to a peak on his forehead, always looking just slightly messy. Unlike his sister, he didn't much care for anything in the hip-hop spectrum, and he preferred rock and alternative music.

Being named after the spirit in Shakespeare's "The Tempest" was rather unfortunate, as most associated his name with The Little Mermaid. As a child, Ariel was always the trickster in his class, generally friends with the resident class clown. However, as he'd gotten older, he'd stopped playing tricks on people and instead joined both the Debate Team and the Rebel's Front at school. His first and foremost ambition was to follow in Patrick's footsteps. Of course, Patrick wasn't REALLY working for the IRS.

For, you see, perhaps the only thing that made this family different from others was the fact that Patty O'Connell was a hired assassin for the Irish Republican Army.