[sticky post]Voicemail
snazzy
thewrathofkaan
What's up, it's Roscoe.

Leave a message. Or don't. I hate checking my messages.

Room 516, Monday Morning
annoyed
thewrathofkaan
Back from what had been an unexpectedly long and uncomfortable week and a half at home, Roscoe trudged his way up the stairs and into his room before flopping face-down on the bed.

It was hard to decide which was the more miserable experience, picking up his dad from jail or discovering that a racist, homophobic, transphobic Cheeto was going to be president. The latter had made the former a lot worse, actually.

But going to protests with Uncle Malcolm on two of the last five nights had made him feel a little better, at least, or at least allowed him to scream until he got tired and his voice was hoarse, so... that was something?

He was still going to just lay here, though. The bed was soft and didn't have any bad news for him. Hopefully.

[[there's a rolling suitcase in the doorway, but the door's open! possible SP warning, i'm trying to get my brain coherent enough to actually play today but i make no promises.]]

Room 516, Friday Afternoon
almost smile
thewrathofkaan
Roscoe had skipped class today.

Read more...Collapse )

[[door closed; post open; casual marijuana use under the cut.]]

Room 516, Monday Morning
disgust
thewrathofkaan
Well, Roscoe's minor nightmare that he'd discussed with Tip last week had come true. His mom had gotten wind of the whole Parents Weekend thing, and now she was talking about coming in for it.

He scowled at his tablet as he read her text for the second time. It was almost menacing in its sincerity - and ordinarily he'd love to see his mom, but having her come here would shatter the level of distance he was so grateful for. At least he was pretty sure his dad couldn't make it, being in jail and all. But then there was his grandpa and Uncle Malcolm, and the thought of them interacting with Monica was almost as bad.

Maybe he still had time to get violently ill before the weekend. Or leave the country. He started to brainstorm possibilities instead of responding to his mom's text.

Room 516, Tuesday Morning
disgust
thewrathofkaan
Roscoe woke up to a long string of text messages from his grandpa that he tried responding to before he ultimately got bored trying and forgot about it. He was more interested in spending his day in other ways, like laying on his stomach with his tablet on his bed, browsing through online shoe stores.

Look, it was fall. He needed new boots. It was important.

He had a nicely creepy Halloween playlist playing in the background, getting him in that mood. Pumpkin spice and spooky scary songs and boot shopping, it was a whole thing.

[[door and post open!]]

Room 516, Sunday Night
chatting
thewrathofkaan
It was now two days later, and Roscoe was finally starting to think he had gotten the smell of grape jello out of his hair.

He had not had as much luck getting it out of his sheets. Those had been through the laundry twice now and still reeked of grape flavoring. And yeah, he probably could have asked Hyacinthe for some advice, but secretly he was happy to have an opportunity to ditch those boring white sheets. So today he had splurged. On a ridiculously opulent new linen set that just felt more like Roscoe.

He was just putting the finishing touches on making the bed with the new sheets for the first time, whistling all the while, and then once he had all the corners just right, he was excited to flop down on the soft black silk and take a selfie with his selfie stick to show off his amazing taste. Because, obviously, everyone cared.

[[door and post open!]]

Room 516, Wednesday Late Afternoon
sigh
thewrathofkaan
Roscoe was feeling antsy.

After the pony drama was over, there wasn't much going on - not even weird shit he could be angry at. It was just... quiet.

He didn't like it. Quiet meant he had to think about his family and what he was doing here and how much it would suck to go back home for school in the fall.

So he made an executive decision to liven things up on his own. The nightlife in Cheesytown left a lot to be desired, but there was always Portalocity. He could get to Baltimore that way, find a club and spend the night not thinking about anything or anyone (well, maybe someone if it was the right someone).

With that decision made, he dumped his makeup bag out on his desk and started refining his Look for tonight. Nothing made a better distraction than making himself look hot.

[[door and post open!]]

From The Campsite to the Dorms, Monday Afternoon
annoyed
thewrathofkaan
Okay, so. As much as Roscoe had hated living in the bubblehut, and he had really hated it, the fact remained that he was taking his sweet time hauling his stuff back from the campsite back to his room.

(This was due to the fact that he had brought entirely too many clothes out to the campsite with him to bring back in a single trip, but that was neither here nor there.)

By now he was on his third or fourth trip from the campsite back to the dorms, his arms full of clothes with his phone perched at the very top of the stack. A meta for Pokemon Go trainer's job was never done, you know, and he had to keep an eye out for any --

"Fuck!" he swore as a critter popped up on the screen and he dropped all his clothes on the ground in his haste to grab his phone to capture it. And of course the new, obnoxious half-gravity meant that now his gorgeous flip-flops were bouncing away from him at a rapid pace. This was just perfect.

[[open!]]

Room 516, Tuesday Morning
sigh
thewrathofkaan
Roscoe awoke to a buzzing phone. His first thought was that the likes on his latest selfie might have bounced him to a new follower milestone, but when he unplugged his phone from the charger and rolled over in bed to check, the truth wasn't nearly as pleasant as that.

Instead, he had a bunch of texts from his grandpa asking him when he wanted to go visit Marty in prison.

Roscoe immediately shut his phone up by sticking it in his nighttable drawer and got up to get dressed, pulling drawers open loudly and carelessly. Baggy black pants, a black mesh shirt, and a bulky trucker cap fit his mood pretty well.

With that, he grabbed his skateboard and stomped out into the hallway. So much for his good mood this morning, Pops.

[[open]]

Room 516, Tuesday Morning
snazzy
thewrathofkaan
Hrng. Mgh. Blghgh.

Roscoe was experiencing his worst hangover ever.

When he rolled over in bed to grab his phone and check the time, he saw that he had thrown up all over his Vuitton handbag, which he was an idiot to have left so dangerously close to the bed.

"Roscoe, no," he whined at himself as he curled back up under the covers, determined to leave the mess for later.

He should have listened to his dad's advice: Drinking was for boys with cheap purses.

{Open!}

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