𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄, trolls band together

𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐒 | CLAY

🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆

request. BlueSpicaStar
word count. 1.5k.
warnings. like 3 curse words. (not proofread)
info. pre-trolls trilogy.

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"BroZone! BroZone! BroZone!"

You didn't even know why you were here, to be quite frank.

How, out of all the people your friend knew, did she decide you'd be the best pick to attend the silly concert with her? When, in your years of friendship, have you expressed even the slightest interest in BroZone? And why, out of all your options, did you agree to go?

You aren't a fan. You never were a fan; you could really care less about the band until she brought them up and then invited you to attend with her.

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"How do you not know BroZone? They are literally dominating the music industry as we breathe. There's merchandise and posters of them being sold everywhere—hello, even the grocery store sells merch! Way too expensive compared to other shops... and the material does not feel very great," she ranted, the energetic girl tapping at her cheek.

"But anyway, how do you not know them? Have you been living under a rock?"

Her tone was accusing, and she might as well have been with the finger being sharply redirected at you, almost poking an eye out.

Engrossed in the scrapbook under you, retelling the events of your day in the form of glitter and silly fuzzy drawings. You had barely paid any mind to her or her rambling, continuing to draw, cut, and paste away.

The truth is, you had actually heard of the band—hard not to when it's plastered everywhere—but due to your negligence in the conversation, you had been throwing mindless uh-huh's and uh-uh's without a second thought, giving misleading responses.

She called your name with a drawl, flicking your forehead.

"Ow," you mumbled, looking up at her with a pout at the attack. "What'd you do that for?"

This time your name was said in frustration, receiving a smack on your head instead, "I've been talking to you and you weren't listening. I am wasting precious vocals here that I could be instead saving for the concert!"

"What concert—ow!"

"BroZone." She deadpanned.
 
"Oh, I know BroZone." You looked back down at the scrapbook, glueing and pasting a little mini version of your friend. "Not a fan."

The biggest gasp ever came from the other girl, her hands dramatically coming up and covering her mouth in utter disbelief. With the way she was acting and the hurt on her face, anyone would've assumed that she'd been told someone was dead, and to her, you might as well be.

"Not a fan? How are you not a fan?"

Her eyes widened, and her hands came down to slam shut the book, keen on getting your undivided attention to focus on this very important issue.