I know, it doesn't look like much in the way of drama, does it? But seething under the exquisitely-rendered surfaces of these portraits are dramas the likes of which you will scarce credit, or however the foppish Brits put it. For Sean, el dudo sinistro dans la peinturo, is recovering from a Trauma At The Beach. Seems he was freaking out in the water, splashing and screaming, sure that he was being molested from behind by some creepy degenerate. Upon examination by April, though, he was found to have a baby flounder adhered to his back. She removed it, feigning a great deal of struggling so as to preserve Sean's testosteronity, but in actuality it involved a small flicking gesture. Mark, el seigneur a la droite, had carefully costumed himself as Westley, the Farm Boy, and was prepared to snatch Alt Daily's Grand Prize of 3/4 of a warm PBR when tragedy befell him, accounting for the hang-dog expression you see expertly limned here. He was in the ticket line trying out pickup lines with two young ladies when they made off with his Rodent of Unusual Size, which was the linchpin of his masquerade, as was made clear when people afterwards began to mistake him for Princess Buttercup. And that was my night at Princess Bride.