Twelve years. It had been twelve. Years. Since that little doll line had been created. Seven main characters, all sorts of play sets and outfit packs and special dolls for events.
All thrown down the drain, because it "wasn't profitable anymore". Because "doll lines are made for little girls" and "girls won't want to play with boy dolls" and "the designs were getting too complicated and expensive to produce". Well, actually, they suppose that one's true, actually, the designs had been getting pretty complicated lately.
But they didn't want their line to be discontinued, or to get sold to the highest bidder in a clear-out auction, or to be wrapped up in suffocating levels of bubble wrap and tissue paper all separated from each other.
But still, they were. No more Side Story dolls, no more spin-off genderbent series for failed doll lines that kicked off the year they got put out only to immediately fail after, no more controversial duo-packs for Valentine's Day with a twin duo made specifically to celebrate the beauty and purity of familial love, no more characters from a very specific line for pride month that existed solely to confirm the characters as all being gay!
It was all gone. Dead. Forgotten. The Side Story dolls were no more. No more whacky antics of a bunch of fictional high school-age boys that acted like preteens for some reason. No more Logan Quinn. No more Roman Andreas. No more Patton Love. No more Virgil Enola, or Janus Anwir, or Remus Andreas, or "OJ" Lyssa. It was all over.
Logan blamed new management. Remus and Roman blamed the fact they let two male characters dress in "scandalous" and "girl's" clothing. Patton blamed the fact their original audience was growing up and didn't need them anymore. Virgil blamed their fashions being primarily based on aesthetics that the execs couldn't market. Janus blamed the fact parents aren't willing to accept that someone can be less than a perfect person without being a "bad influence" on their kids. OJ blamed the fact they were gay and people suck and queerphobic parents probably petitioned to get them canceled.
Didn't matter who was to blame, though, they were canceled and couldn't change it.
They all felt a sting of anger at the stopping of the truck. It had been going for a week now, they believed, and every time they stopped it was to get another package out of the auto, or they would stop for literal hours. They were the only packages in the truck now, and we're sick and tired of being stuck in there, silent.
They felt themselves being picked up, and put in a bag, and brought up to a doorstep. They heard a sharp ping and a door opened shortly after. "Hello, sir, we'll need you to sign here." They heard a loud click and a scrape of pen against paper. One at a time, they were handed over to another person in their tight and uncomfortable cardboard prisons.
