Our little ingenue in the making is quite sad.

Sure, the boat is fun, but she is still feeling lonely without her friends from the city. She is standing outside, wind blowing in her hair, looking quite wistful. She would like some company, thank you very much.

So Johnny's adapted somewhat to life on the boat - he's not sick as often as he used to be, and he's found ways to get around, from his berth to the various bridges.

He's on his way to visit a young person who was kind to him when he arrived, and he is whistling a tune, not quite skillfully, but calmly enough.  His smirk is peaceful - if smirks can ( Read more... )

Johnny finally made it out of wherever it is he landed, and he's exploring the ship.  He found the buffet, and stuffed himself enthusiastically - Johnny never had much access to luxury.  He found a berth in which to stay, and he's excited by that as well.  But now, here comes the big surprise.

He just pushed the door to outside, and is now ( Read more... )

 Because her typist is a little bored, Serena can be found in a vacant practice room, practicing her songs, even though she probably will never ever get to audition for another show in her life ever again (nor will she see Nick) and this is VERY DISAPPOINTING ( Read more... )

At the time, it had seemed like a good idea to Gordon to go lean against the railing on the boat and just stare out at the horizon. Granted, it was cliche and cheesy, but he was sure something about it would help him sort out his thoughts. And it did, for a while. But now he's starting to feel the slight pulls of sea sickness in his stomach, and ( Read more... )

She enters, her hair pulled into pigtails, as usual, chomping on a twinkie, the other hand holding a milkshake.  She furrows her brow and looks around stupidly.

"Roger?  Frenchie?  Riz?  Say, where the heck am I?"

Typist: Hehe. Jan from Grease. Blame my sister.

Here is Lancelot -- feeling very embarassed and exposed in his... well he supposed it was an outfit. "Hello...?" he calls out, cautiously. "Anyone... Herbert...?"

typist: His name is Lancelot! :D He likes to dance a lot, and ~*~dream!~*~ So come say hi!

In enters a small, frail young woman, barely fifteen, clutching to her school books for dear life, looking very much like a deer caught in the proverbial headlights.  No, this is definately not the High School of Performing Arts. This doesn't even look like a school. Poor Serena Katz, a victim of shyness, looks around wildly before finally backing ( Read more... )