(Untitled)

[bohemian_mark]

The bar door opens, and in comes a basket of laundry. Then another. Then, behind another bag, is a blonde filmmaker, calling out to someone. "Hey, Fred, thanks for the help. Yeah, I'll get that script to you next week. Right. Thanks." Looking around the bag, he blinks. "This is certainly not the laundromat." Facepalming, he hauls the baskets and

Comments

[the_antiangst]

Angel happens by... and stops, picking a skirt out of the pile. "How the hell long has this been in your laundry?"

[bohemian_mark]

Mark is folding a shirt that likely belongs to Roger, at that particular moment, then looks up, blinking. "I have no clue. I got frustrated with laundry sitting around and just grabbed everything that I could find that wasn't on hangers or obviously clean. I don't know... holy shit, we need to do laundry more." He facepalms.

[the_antiangst]

"Didn't even know you still had anything of mine." Angel grins.

[bohemian_mark]

"I guess I didn't either." Mark grins. "Have a seat if you want. You might recognize more of this pile, actually." He's moved from t-shirts to pairing socks now.

[shortofcrazy]

Riley blinks at an especially frilly piece of clothing as he's passing, green beer in hand. "Please tell me that's yours." He grins.

[bohemian_mark]

Mark was engaged in folding a pair of jeans that are actually more hole than pants. He stares at it, then turns a bit pink. "Oh, er, no. That's my roommate's girlfriend's. She's an exotic dancer." He smirks. "Have a seat, Riley. Don't mind the random underclothing."

[shortofcrazy]

"I don't mind random underclothing." Riley clears a few shirts and a skirt off of a chair, setting them on the table, and drops into the seat. "Oh, by the way, I IMDB'd your movie; I apparently am not living under a rock, since it doesn't exist in my reality."

[bohemian_mark]

Mark laughs. "Well, I don't know if that's a relief or a shame. It would be wierd to think that I was on the 'net and didn't know it." He grins, folding a strangely made skirt.