in Charlie's room
[ooc: post this]
Charlie lets David into the room and closes the door behind them. He puts the bass carefully in the corner, propped up against the wall. Someone--the Oompa-Loompas, for all he knows--has laundered his old shirt and sweatshirt and left them folded on the bed. Beyond this, there is nothing to say this room is his.
When they were touring he'd try to do something in every hotel room to make it homey: scarves on the lamps, pictures stuck to the mirrors, a shrine during his Buddhist phase. He's done nothing here.
"I haven't spent much time here," he says. "Mostly I've been down in the bar or with Bartleby. So he could watch over me," he adds hastily--he doesn't want David to think things happened that didn't. "So he could help me."
He'd make a joke about it not being much but it's home, but it's not even that. It's just a room that meant nothing until David stepped inside.
Charlie lets David into the room and closes the door behind them. He puts the bass carefully in the corner, propped up against the wall. Someone--the Oompa-Loompas, for all he knows--has laundered his old shirt and sweatshirt and left them folded on the bed. Beyond this, there is nothing to say this room is his.
When they were touring he'd try to do something in every hotel room to make it homey: scarves on the lamps, pictures stuck to the mirrors, a shrine during his Buddhist phase. He's done nothing here.
"I haven't spent much time here," he says. "Mostly I've been down in the bar or with Bartleby. So he could watch over me," he adds hastily--he doesn't want David to think things happened that didn't. "So he could help me."
He'd make a joke about it not being much but it's home, but it's not even that. It's just a room that meant nothing until David stepped inside.