The Roof; Late Friday Morning.

[by137.livejournal.com]

Although he'd spent a proper day afk brooding, A.J. was still feeling upset about that whole thing with Annette coming in the other day. And the more the thought about it, the more angsty emo upset he got. Maybe, yeah maybe she didn't know any better. But Annette was smarter than that! She had to have known what she was doing, and if she knew what she was doing...

Because he most likely didn't have the strength to put his aggression out in most forms, he did it through his painting. He'd laid down a big canvas on the floor, picked up a few brushes at once, each dipped in certain paints and just slashed and stabbed and dotted and streaked wherever it felt right, or effective. Jackson Pollack on moody, teenaged boy angst, as A.J. tried to figure out the conundrum of the fact that he always seemed to want what he couldn't have, and then what he could just....He hoped to find the answers in the paint. He'd title this piece "Solution to a Problem about Love that's Not as Messy as Blowing Out your Brains."


[[ open roof is open ]]

2nd Floor Common Room, Friday Afternoon

[wannabe-pan.livejournal.com]

Andrew had a craving for funnel cake so he decided to make some. There was a pot of hot oil on the stove, a bowl of batter, powdered sugar, chocolate syrup, and a can of cherry pie filling all laid out.

Two extra-crispy clumps and a burnt thumb later, he finally managed to produce something that actually resembled the tasty treat he desired.

[ooc: Post is totally open! Andrew has plenty of extra batter if anyone is craving fried goodness!]

fifth floor common room, friday evening

[orewahikari.livejournal.com]

Roxas did not disappear off the face of the planet, we promise. Honestly. Swear.

Uh, yeah.

He's been here the whole time! Doing stuff just like he's doing now, sitting and reading the last Barry Plodder book - the last three are big fat books, and it's honestly taken him all this time to get to the last one - and he's constantly rolling his eyes as he turns a page. And when he's not rolling his eyes, he's reaching into a bowl of chips or fidgeting his feet which are sticking out from under his legs, curled under to beside him.

After a couple of minutes, he turns the final page - finally!, he thinks - and puts the book down on the table.

And then he has no more book. And there's nothing decent on TV (not even on Animal Planet, which has never let him down before now), so he whistles to himself for a couple of minutes before going to sit at the window of the common room, looking out.

He sort of wishes he'd gone home to see Hayner and Pence and Olette, but he's not sure he'd have wanted to come back.

He sighs.

He's bored. This is never a good thing, really.

[OOC: Window, door, room, post: open!]