Rock on,Floyd

Rocking Makeover

Floyd, Rebel, and Barb were sprawled out in their shared bedroom, each engaged in their own slice of downtime. Floyd, his interest piqued by a glossy spread of magazines before him, flipped through pages until he landed on a vibrant fashion section. It showcased the bold, distinctive style of the Rock Trolls—a style he found himself increasingly drawn to. Glancing up, he caught his reflection in the mirror and imagined how he might look donning such edgy attire. He could see it—this was a style that resonated with him, a style he felt could truly express who he was.

His daydream was abruptly cut short as Rebel and Barb stirred to their feet. "I've got to take Barb to a doctor's appointment," Rebel announced, her tone practical yet gentle. "Carol and Riff will be over soon, so you won't be alone... bye!" And just like that, they were gone, their departure swift, leaving Floyd alone with a burgeoning idea.

Alone with his thoughts, Floyd's gaze drifted back to the mirror, then to the fashion pages sprawled out before him. A plan began to form, crystallizing with each passing second. He knew exactly what he needed to do to make this vision a reality—he would enlist Carol and Riff's help for a bold, rock-inspired makeover. The thought alone sparked a surge of excitement; it was time for a change, and who better to guide him through this transformation than his extremely weird friends?

The dynamic duo, Carol and Riff, made their grand entrance into the house roughly thirty minutes later, sauntering in with an air of casual ownership that seemed to declare the space theirs. They halted in their tracks, however, at the sight that greeted them: Floyd, positioned strategically in front of the door, his eyes alight with anticipation and a fashion magazine clutched in his hands. "Please... make me look cool," he implored, his voice tinged with earnest hope.

Carol's response was instant and overflowing with unrestrained excitement. "Oh, sparkly unicorn tails, YES! I've been waiting for the day I could unleash my fashion genius on an unsuspecting soul! Floyd, darling, you're about to become my masterpiece, my magnum opus in the world of rock fashion!" she exclaimed, practically vibrating with enthusiasm.

Riff, not to be outdone in the department of dramatic declarations, added his own peculiar twist. "I had 'setting the market on fire' penciled into my calendar for today, but hey, if little dude wants a makeover, consider the market's fiery fate postponed until tomorrow," he said, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Wait, what-" Floyd's response was a mixture of alarm and confusion, his eyebrows knitting together as he tried to decipher whether Riff's plans were literal or just another eccentric quip.

Carol dashed out of the house in a manner reminiscent of a cartoon character, her movements exaggerated and playful. Moments later, she returned, lugging a briefcase adorned with an assortment of stickers depicting skulls and guitars — one sticker, rather incongruously, featured a bong.

With an evil smile stretching across her face, Carol cackled like a witch as she flung open the briefcase, revealing its contents:

- A plethora of hair supplies, from hair gel to hair dye in every color of the rainbow.

- An array of makeup, including vibrant eyeshadows, bold lipsticks, and shimmering highlighters.

- A collection of accessories, ranging from studded belts to chunky bracelets and everything in between.

Riff procured a hairdressing cape from the depths of the briefcase, gently draping it around Floyd's shoulders. "Alright, little dude, we're kicking things off with your hair," Riff announced with a reassuring tone. "No worries, okay? This isn't our first rodeo with hair styling," he added, aiming to ease any of Floyd's potential nerves.