||[Jan. 22nd, 2007|01:16 am]
|||||your front porch||]|
|||||something rustling in the bushes||]|
Name's Fred Steller, I'm a homeless musician, please dear kind people, take me in and give me a sandwich.
::sleepy yawn stretch:: ::opens door:: Uhm, hey, can I help you? ::rubs eyes::
Yeah, you can take THIS ::drops a huge battered suitcase at Mat's feet:: and show me to some suitable guest quarters. Uh, please.
::blink:: What the hell, do I look like a busboy to you?
::nudges the suitcase with his foot until it flops over on its side and sits down on it:: All right, no problem, I'll stay here. ::gazing rather loonily at the opposite wall:: ::blinks slowly::
::peering over his shoulder:: What've you got there, Mat?
Some scruffy guy who wants to stay here...
He's kinda cute... I say we keep him.
Alright then, you can take his bag up and find somewhere to sleep ::yawns and leaves::
::calls after him:: Yeah, don't think I'll bother actually. ::settles down to watch Fred who has apparently fallen asleep on his suitcase::
::happens to be walking by:: Woah, whatcha got there, Niccolo?
::starts:: ...Oliver? What are you doing up? ::blushes slightly and glances down at the still soundly-sleeping Fred::
o_O I was going down to the grass room to run around a bit...::squats next to him:: So, who's the guy?
Says he's a musician. ::peers critically at Fred's two-day growth of beard:: ...he needs a shave. ::sniff:: And a shower.