Atton's Bedroom, MCA #4, Monday Morning

[suitablyheroic]

Atton woke up.

Atton groaned.

Atton turned over and bumped right into a blaster rifle.

He blinked.

"... When the hell did I move all of the blasters into my ro-- oh."

Did he really have to go to class today? He did not want to go to class today.

[[ can be open for phone calls etc or the roomie. ]]

Comments

[myownface]

By some miracle, Sparkle had come home from the party last night instead of just crashing on Tony's floor or bed or on Tony or something.

Less miraculous was the fact that he found himself unable to sleep again, and had spent the night parked on the sofa, playing brainless tapping games on his phone. This was kind of becoming routine, here.

At the first sign of life from Atton's room, the groan and the sound of his voice through the door, Sparkle glanced that way, then pulled his phone's menu screen down to look at the time, then mumbled something incoherent under his breath before calling out, "Breakfast?"

[suitablyheroic]

There was a loud, grumbly noise that probably echoed the word 'breakfast' right back at Sparkle.

Atton was just going to slowly ooze out of bed instead of doing what he really wanted to and yanking the pillow over his head. Yes.

[myownface]

"Sandwiches," Sparkle bounced back, already kind of oozing off the couch and making his way to the kitchen. "Sandwiches."

There were bagels, and there was ham, and there were eggs... cheese... whatever the hell else he could fit in there without hacking off a finger or something. Sandwiches seemed the way to go.

[suitablyheroic]

Pants? Pants. Shirt? Shirt. Jacket? ... too much effort. Shoes? Even worse.

A couple minutes later, a distinctly zombie-esque Atton managed to stumble into the living room, blinking a few times. "Sparks--?"

Beat.

"Right. Kitchen."