Room 402, Sunday Evening
Christian's problem with the Rock Star costume kit he'd picked up at Holiday Grove earlier that week was that there was not very much to it. Oh, there was a pair of snug-fitting trousers made of what seemed to be some kind of mock leather -- but besides that, there was only a shaggy wig, a bottle of some foul-smelling liquid that seemed to be neither whiskey nor tea, and a pencil helpfully labeled EYELINER. Was he really supposed to go out in October with no shirt at all?
He grimaced into the mirror, trying to apply the eyeliner. He supposed he had to go for the whole costume to get the intended effect, but he still had no idea how women did this without stabbing their eyes out.
He'd consider the shirt problem later, since the whole question would be moot if he blinded himself.
[OOC: Open door, open post. Also, Christian's costume is generic dissolute rock star, not Curt Wild specifically.]
He grimaced into the mirror, trying to apply the eyeliner. He supposed he had to go for the whole costume to get the intended effect, but he still had no idea how women did this without stabbing their eyes out.
He'd consider the shirt problem later, since the whole question would be moot if he blinded himself.
[OOC: Open door, open post. Also, Christian's costume is generic dissolute rock star, not Curt Wild specifically.]