Beepbeepbeepbeep. Beepbeepbeepbeep. Beepbeepbeepbeep. Beepbeepbeepbeep. Beepbe--
"Mrghhh..." A hand shoots out from under a large, soft comforter to slam on the top of the annoying-as-hell alarm clock. Two bleary blue eyes peer out of the cave of blankets at the red numbers, blinking a few times.
"... SHIT!" The body of a young man, about the age of 19, quickly rolls out of the blankets... And onto the floor. "Fucking hell!"
'Shitshitshitshit.' Desmond smacked himself in the head as he ran down the street. He was late for practice. Krist was gonna KILL him.
You see, Desmond was the drummer for a band. No just any band, but Krist and the Recordable Sidewalk. They were famous. Almost. Sorta. Not really. But that wasn't to say they didn't try. Currently, they were rehearsing for a gig they had at a local club later that week. One of these rehearsals was actually happening right now. And Desmond was late.
Running as fast as he could, he suddenly realized something. And stopped. 'Fuck.'
Pulling out his cell, he dialed a familiar number. 'Pick up, pick up, pick up... Come on Krist...' He inwardly groaned. He had fucking forgot where the rehersal WAS.
((Hahah. I haven't RPed in months. I suck.))