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Chanti sighs and kicks his legs while he pages through a magazine at his dinner table. He’s down in the mouth- possibly even a little bitter as the highfalutin’ buns of renown and fame dish and chat about their predictions and plans for that year’s Gossamer Gala. Who’s going, what they’re wearing, what scandalous hijinks they’ll get up to… Every topic on the subject of the Gala makes the prideful bun’s eyes go green (figuratively) with envy. He k...

Next. Next. Next. Delete. Next. Illumine scrolls through the photos they'd been taking over the course of the evening. In spare moments, they try to delete as many bad pictures as possible-- less work for later, and all. They already feel like they're running out of particularly interesting things to photograph; it's only been two hours. The space is lovely-- they'd just gotten the opportunity to take picture...