Hapto Day

Mission Summary

Nothing's easy about prom. There's the boys on one side, the girls on the other, the scowly outsiders, the games, the randy jocks, the fumbly geeks, the experienced "older women", the exotic foreign exchange students, the band geeks, and the art kids and their cigarettes, the chaperons, the younger brothers, the pigs blood, casino night, and the stretch limo full of mad-dog and hormones. Truly, a night to remember.

Y'all were warned.

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SCUL mission Hapto's prom-party:

by fashion reporter MsMoon

The stars were certainly out last night at a gala birthday party that rocked the fashion world and several local hotspots. SCUL's fashion elite demonstrated once again that satin, leather, sequins, feathers, battery-powered lights and yes, fish and metal helmets can be used to shattering effect, oh so chic.

As the guests arrived at the fort, (the hip hideaway of Skunk, Pecan, and Ehawk, notorious SCUL party hosts), the mood was electric. Where would the evening's mysterious ride take them? Would their eyeliner stay set? Who had the tool kit? Were those heels exactly the right shade of tarnish?

Veal lounged picturesquely on the sofa, proving once again that basic black should never be underestimated. His dress was simple, almost severe with a square cut neck that set of his beard with dash. Beside him, in a tasteful salmon top sprinkled with bicycles, Kung Fool kept an eye on things, acting as chaperon.

Pecan floated in and out, arrayed in a devastating flounced black whirl of taffeta undercut by stunning black and tangerine striped stockings, a brilliant touch, taking the outfit from nouvelle Goth to urban pirate chic.

Grimlocke wore a wicked black concoction, with crimson slash marks dramatically punctuating the look. Violent, yet playful.

Skunk appeared in a daringly short mini he toned down by choosing a demure shade of blue and opting for flats with socks, the whole edgy ensemble, set off by his signature electric hat, effortlessly achieving a deceptively casual look.

Ehawk was a confection of pink froth and white. A Ballerina prom princess straight out of one of those French films about charming mad people.

Flamboyantly stylish in a suit of a truly ferocious purple, Leotard completed her ensemble with a dashing silver belt. "I'm channeling my inner superhero" she explained. And she'd need to, riding that notoriously naughty chopper USB Annihilation.

Eventually, with only one or two people bitten by Nemo, the ever opportunistic parrot, the party moved down to level 0, a cozy private den in the basement, done in post modern grubby, where last minute adjustments to costume and choppers were being made. The air was thick with the screeching of metal, cursing of pilots driven to the edge of despair and suffocating clouds of hairspray. The fort fairly buzzed with excitement. Would it rain again, with hail this time? Would the
radio work? Which way were they going? And where was Hapto anyway?

Samurai was mysterious and very Parisienne with notes of dangerous intent and a lot of gleaming hair.

Axeman was almost incomprehensible in a baffling assortment of skirts and bandannas. Maggots were modest, understated.

Outside, the tone was cool. Smoke wafted in everyone's faces, thick as a woolly rug. StarHustler glided up, piloted by Threespeed managing to look both dashing and bitter, wearing two fiercely combative patterns of plaid (one of them with spikes) and an edgy blue sequin bowtie. MsMoon, perched on the copilot seat in a bewildering clash of fuchsia,
chartreuse and teal ruffles dripping (and rattling) with orange beads and clanking gold coins...

But all eyes turned with astonishment and awe, to stare at the elegant yet so now gown Pywaket wore. A rich cascade of mauve satin falling in folds that swept the sidewalk, with a bold cutout back. Pywaket chose strappy pumps of plum with plenty of sparkle (which he hung alluringly from his handlebars while riding).

At last, Hapto sailed in, a renaissance demon, fashionably late, in a bristling stand-out flame colored skirt offset by a brilliant satin jacket printed with upside down faces in black and white. A sort of explosion on wheels. As hostess, Ms. Hapto arrived with a petit arsenal of sprays and last minute accessories. Wasting no time the fashionista stuck a bright pink wig on Frenchy, (which instantly took his outfit from curbside chic to lunatic-gauche). With ruthless abandon, she flung scarves and paints, rescuing the 'not quite there yet' at lightning speed. "Turn around" she ordered, uncapping and shaking a large can at Scurvy (attractively dressed in delicately faded plaid flannel and a flared skirt) who with supreme confidence, put his
hair in the path of the spray can, only venturing a moment later:

"What color is it?"

All was ready. The sonic disruptor smashed into SCULs theme-song, and the 20 promsters flung themselves out into the quiet streets where the unsuspecting public was about to discover the true meaning of SCULstyle. (Not all of them liked it).

"Show everything but mercy" seems to have been the slogan of the hour.

The food: to-die-of cake, 'Purple octopus with wings in flames' decadently gooey and potentially lethal. The drink: an eclectic assortment of beer, warm water and ominously colored mystery bottles that caused more than a few people to drape themselves luxuriously (and with tremendous dignity) on various patches of tarmac, concrete, and in
one case a large puddle. (but that was much later).

The decor: Moon, large, round and yellow. The city: damp, but pleasant, with lots of bridges, curving roads and (usually) gentle slopes. Parking-lots, lit by streetlight, moonlight, and Scul-light, became glittering ballroom/arenas for dancing and/or battle. (Usually not at the same time).

The games: Deadly Dodge ball Derby. There were rules, but nobody seemed to know what they were. Some people managed to lose their clothing temporarily. And for awhile, a sporty shopping cart crashed about in an alarming and random manner, adding even more confusion to the scene.

The Art: Ehawk-chalkworks (intrepid bunnies mostly) bloomed on the parking lot, which was impressive considering the artist was in constant danger of being squashed as she crawled about on her rapidly expanding masterpieces almost under the wheels of the rest of the fleet.

The Dance: Truly inspired. The music ricocheting wildly from molten-angry to mindlessly-jolly to soppy was irresistible.

The Fans: Wardrobe wannabes reeled back in awe. Sidewalks erupted with shrieks of delight, cries of dismay, and screams of outrage. High 5's were so enthusiastic they nearly unseated a couple of the less sturdy pilots, while the thuggish burbled brutish and inarticulate protests.

The fight scenes: well, almost. Maybe. OK, none. But some of the stunning (literally) and provocative fashion statements unleashed by SCUL may have caused several faints, walking-backward-into-walls incidents, and certainly more than a few nightmares. The fashion world may never be the same.

The Triumphs: Threespeed trash-picked an enormous metal object which Leotard instantly recognized as a part of an air-system. Amazingly, it was quickly transformed into a fabulous and adorable hat. Everyone will be wearing them by fall. Rush to your favorite dumpster, they'll be snapped up fast.

The Tears: At the after-party, in a glamorous parking lot where SCUL met to hold its closing ceremonies and awards, emotion ran all over the place. Soppy and heroic speeches were made. Everyone who could still figure out how to do it clapped wildly. Skunk managed to climb onto cloud-tower for the last time, and the fleet vanished silently into the
night, like a sparkling, spiky dream.