Handsome Men's Club of Rewritten City

[sodapop]

Handsome Men's Club of Rewritten City

Hello,

You've been invited to join handsome men just like you in the Handsome Men's Club, you sir, have been invited because you, like so few, are handsome. Here at this club you will meet other men who are just as handsome as you are, and share your handsome interest. We hope you enjoy your membership.

----

This was a prestigious club, only letting the men who had, the best eyes, the best abs, the best smile and most importantly the best hair, join. If you were accepted, your were most definitely handsome above all other people, the minute you were in this club you were deemed a god!

Sodapop was a member of the Handsome Men's Club, and he, above all others, was indeed the handsomest, he had soft brown eyes, a rock-solid sick pack and of course, amazing hair. Soda walked into the club smiling a wide smile, he took as seat at the round table and stared at his reflection in his name plate. He was most certainly the handsomest man alive, he would not say this of course, out of fairness to the other men, it was nice to let them believe they looked good compared to him.

He silently waited for the other members to arrive and they meeting would be started, they'd talk about things like who they would allow to join, what each of them had done since the last meeting, and even what made them so handsome. Handsome was an overly used word at this club, because it described about everything in the club. He loosened his tie and leaned backward in his leather computer chair, yes, it felt good to be a handsome man.

[hamlet]

Harry Chandler walked in adjusting his tie, taking his usual seat at the Handsome Men's Club. It was just another meeting like all of the others. Today, like any other day, he was going through the motions. But this time, as a relief, he didn't have to deal with any of his coworkers or family members. No, these were just men with a common interest, a common goal...to remind themselves of how handsome they were. And Harry needed the club as much as the club needed him. Since Ophelia was the only person keeping him borderline sane, he needed to solidify himself in the handsome elites. Then Ophelia definitely wouldn't be able to resist him.

It was all a part of the plan really. Sure the acting crazy in timely intervals to derive suspicion of a possible murder was written in stone. Making sure his uncle didn't send any spies after him also was tough work. But this was important as well. These meetings affirmed that if he were to die, he will die looking good. Nothing can beat that.

He sat in the leather chair, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back, looking at Sodapop with an irritated glint in his captivating grey eyes. Harry's hair was nicely cut and styled, having that youthful and slightly messy flair that he knew made Ophelia melt. And to top it off, he gave a lop sided grin, that signature grin, expressing the constant state of annoyance he usually settled himself in.

"So is this how we do things now? People can start coming to meetings late? Let me know, because then I could spend more time in the mirror. I have to change my contacts sometimes you know. I might feel like a light blue eye goes better with my suit than the grey."

[ricketts]

Pushing open a gleaming imitation-mahogany door, with a cautious hand, Henry entered himself with a curious quirk of his brows. He had never heard of such a business or been to such a place, but when he received an invite to the shining air that called itself The Handsome Men's Club, he cast about for some explaination to it. But after a while, saw the humour in it. Someone was playing a joke on him, and he knew, though could not place who just yet. Still, it was a joke he could easily take as a compliment.

Pushing all but his thumbs into his pockets, he looked upon a rounded table seating two beautifully tailored young men. While he shot a stealthy glance about the place, he realised that he had made virtually no more effort than the usual. He wore what was now an old favourite, black and grey flannel shirt that was collarless and a pair of well-worn blue jeans that were scuffed all around the bottoms, just like any other pair he owned thanks to his shuffling habit. Wherein Henry was not as neat as a new pin, he was aware that he was wholesome and healthy. That was all he really needed.

Submitting to his seat, he humbly noticed his name plaqued in place with such glistening presentation. 'Hmm, wonder when Ashton's goin' t' jump out.' He muttered doubtfully, though still with a smothered feeling of flattery all at once. Raising a candid blue eye, he leant back and crossed his arms. The whole thing smacked of an MTV prank show.

[yolanda7h]

This was the only time anyone could get him in a tie.

Dally was uncharacteristically "dressed up," in dark jeans, a nice shirt and jacket. His tie was loose, mostly undone, around his neck because he was too lazy to tie it up before leaving. He walked in, despite being late, as if he owned the place. He didn't need this damn club to tell him he was good looking. Dally lifted enough weights and did enough sit ups to get those sexy abs, and no woman could resist his deep voice, not even the Soc girls. But hey, the club had its perks. He caught Henry's comment as he walked in.

"Hmm, wonder when Ashton's goin' t' jump out."

"It must be the new guy." He said to the blue eyed man as he walked over to Soda. "Look, man, not many people get into this club, alright? I suggest you do what new guys do best, shut the fuck up and listen. Got it?" He glared at the guy with his intense narrow brown eyes. After a moment, his expression buckled and he laughed.

"Haha, always get a kick out of messin with the new guys. And anyway, we're supposed to be voting on Ashton Kutcher's application. I say to hell with him. He ain't been handsome since the damn '70s Show.'" He walked behind Soda's seat and started swiveling it side to side. "Where the fuck is everyone man? Let's get this show started." He took his hand and ruffled Soda's hair before taking his seat with his name marked.

"Look who's handsome now, pretty boy." Dally joked towards Soda.

[melpomene]

Nick Bottom was always late. But he was fashionably late—that made all the difference. It meant everything and nothing at the same time. He wanted the other men of the club to see his attractiveness and drop dead from the sight of his beauty. No one could compare with him. Yet, how was he still just a tailor? Well, even that had its benefits. He'd made himself his own suit for the occasion. His trousers were brown and pinstriped, neither too large or two small. He had on a white, long-sleeved shirt which was covered by a perfectly-tailored (duh) waistcoat in the same fabric as his trousers. The only parts of his ensemble that he didn't make himself were his pocket-watch, his socks, his beautifully-polished shoes, and his underwear. What topped his outfit (quite literally) was his top hat. It had taken him weeks to make, but he was saving it for the perfect occasion. No need to rush it.

Bottom pushed the door open with ease, his chest forward and his head up. As he set foot in the large room, he announced, "And now, the most handsomest of all, Nick Bottom, has took his entrance!" Okay, so his grammar wasn't as beautiful as his physical appearance. Nevertheless, his tone oozed confidence and made the words themselves of no importance. "When do we elect the President of this club? Because I elect no one but I! No one of you has a chance!" he exclaimed, sitting down on his comfortable leather chair. He looked at his name plate and grimaced.

"Ugh! 'Nicholas' Bottom is so formal!"