[tom's loft VII]

[onesong___glory]

Roger feels much better. In fact, he can even get out of bed now, perhaps to Mark's (and Tom's) chagrin. He's feeling good enough to go into the kitchen himself. Forcing himself to erect a barrier from Tom's vicious staring (if there's anything he can do well, besides play bass, it's stare), he drags himself through the dizziness and the fact he

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[not_scripted]

Mark had decided it would be good if Roger got up and walked around a bit, so he sent his best friend to retrieve more toast from the kitchen. Of all the food Roger's bandmates had, Mark was sure they wouldn't mind a few missing slices of bread.

While Roger was gone, Mark continued his task for the day: Tackling and cleaning Roger's room. There wasn't much else to do, and Mark wasn't exactly the sociable type. He would rather do anything else than be in the same room with Tom

[onesong___glory]

Tom and the rest of the bandmates watch Roger stagger out of the kitchen with expression ranging from amused to worried. You can probaly guess which is which.

"Should he really be out of bed?"

"Who are you, Mark?"

"What's with you and the Mark jokes? The guy means well, and it's becuase of him that Roger can play a guitar."

"Attempt to. He can't play for shit."

"He can play fucking fine! Better then I can, that's for sure."

"That's not saying much, Jay." And Tom doesn't feel like arguing with his other guitarist, so he just leaves the remainder of his eggs over-easy and heads out to go tackle some more goombas and prickly pears and koopa brothers.

"Leave it, Jay. The loft is not worth it." Jay scowls at Alex and leans back against the fridge.

"This is getting out of hand, Alex. It's...not cool."

Tom has wandered back into the living room, but he can't help noticing Mark cleaning Roger's room. God, the boy is so whipped. "Are you having fun?" He half-shouts from the couch, pausing the game.

[not_scripted]

Mark scowled slightly as he heard Tom's voice address him from out in the living room. He was sitting cross-legged on Roger's bed, folding some shirts and putting them into neat piles (which were seperated by color and styles).

"At least I'm doing something somewhat productive," he managed to reply in a cheerful tone of voice. He scooted off of the bed, with one pile of shirts in his arms, and proceeded to put them into one of the empty dresser drawers.

He wasn't going to lose his cool that easily. It would take a lot more than mere sarcasm from the likes of Tom.

[onesong___glory]

"Yeah, I suppose?" He puts down the controller and meanders over to Roger's doorframe. "Why do you bother?" The question sounds acutally inquisitive as opposed to a jerk. "I mean, he..ran away on you. He sounds like he's got an aweful lot of baggage and you seem like an okay, honest, perfect kind of guy. Honestly. I'm not being an ass. I'm seriously asking."

He takes another breath. "..You oughta be careful with what you touch. He's a guy without a girlfriend, right? That's the only way he could ditch you like this. How do you deal with him?"