'The Friend' went by the name Maxwell Dent (Yes, readers. They were, indeed, Sam and Max). Unlike his best friend of going on fifteen years, Max was not very active in school. He went, if you call sitting in class and playing video games 'going to school'. He was the true 'otaku' of the group, whereas Sam just wore the mantle under the guise of his East Asian Culture studies. Max was the one who had walls covered in wall scrolls, an entire terabyte harddrive filled with anime of all flavors (a whole other Terabyte Harddrive dedicated to his rather impressive hentai collection both official and doujin). Even though Max couldn't concentrate on school to save his damn life, when it came to planning conventions, Sam was hard-pressed to find someone better. 'I've got this, bro. Trust me.' He had told Sam a week ago when the topic of the hotel had sprung up. Sure, they could just drive down there every day but... gas prices these days.<br/><br/>Max was the same age as Sam - 20 - but aside from that, the two were nothing alike. Sam paid explicit attention in school whereas Max was lacking. Sam knew a good amount about Anime and manga and other nerdy things, whereas getting into a discussion about Madoka Magica or Kill la Kill was probably the last thing anyone wanted to do with Max. The man was a walking encyclopedia of the Otaku, and it showed. At eighteen, he had saved the money to have the Triforce of Power tattooed on the back of his left hand in glow-in-the-dark ink. He did not believe in body art like that... but that was too good of an opportunity to pass up, due to the price.<br/><br/>Sure, the hotel was a small drive from the con. But it was both cheap, and had free rooms available. He'd even upgraded to a deluxe suite ("Dude, think if we pick up chicks! You'll thank me, man...") for a mild upcharge. It was now a week before the convention... and the usual problem had set in. They had spent so much time saving money, they had no time or extra scratch to cough up a costume. Dammit, it was the same way every year! It wasn't like they didn't advertise the con! Or... you know...<em>have it the same five days every year!</em>It shouldn't come as a surprise to them! So why...<em>why</em>did they never have a costume!? Well... this year would be different. For better... or worse.<br/><br/>"Sup, Sam?" Max had mused as his friend called him in late one night. He'd been visiting to discuss the convention, and had gotten distracted playing his copy of Stardew Valley on his computer. He rolled his neck and cracked his knuckles, Sam hunched over his school laptop.