33 Apocalypse Avenue [mid-morning]
A very small boy with a bucket over his head--thanks for that, Friday's toy chest--toddled down the hallway and made his way down the stairs.
Bounce-bounce-bounce.
Rear ends are great for that.
He made his way into the kitchen and leaned up onto his tiptoes to reach the cereal--something bright with incomprehensible writing on the side--and tipped about half of it onto the floor.
Exasperated, he lifted the bucket off of his eyes to see. Bright blue eyes gazed around the room and settled on the telephone.
Ooooh. He could call all of his friends!
Or punch random numbers and leave messages... which is what a four-year-old is much more inclined to do...
[OOC: Open for housemates and friends who know who this is. Radio squirrels--buckethead kid doesn't have a name...]
Bounce-bounce-bounce.
Rear ends are great for that.
He made his way into the kitchen and leaned up onto his tiptoes to reach the cereal--something bright with incomprehensible writing on the side--and tipped about half of it onto the floor.
Exasperated, he lifted the bucket off of his eyes to see. Bright blue eyes gazed around the room and settled on the telephone.
Ooooh. He could call all of his friends!
Or punch random numbers and leave messages... which is what a four-year-old is much more inclined to do...
[OOC: Open for housemates and friends who know who this is. Radio squirrels--buckethead kid doesn't have a name...]