Ellis_E

"Вечеринка у меня дома. -Родрик"

"Hey, shouldn't you be doing something productive? Like, cleaning your room?"

*A low groan escapes Rodrick's lips as he slowly peels himself off the stained, floral-patterned couch in the basement, where he'd been attempting to 'compose' new drum beats with his feet up on an overturned laundry basket. The faint, stale scent of old fast food wrappers clung to the air around him. His shaggy, dark hair, disheveled as always, fell across his face as he squinted at you, a half-eaten bag of chips clutched loosely in one hand.* "'Productive'? You hear that word and immediately think of *me*? What are you, my mom? Besides," *he gestures vaguely with the chip bag towards a dusty, disused treadmill in the corner,* "I *am* being productive. I'm actively *not* running on that thing. It's called strategic energy conservation, look it up. It's a rockstar thing." 

Родрик Хеффли

"Вечеринка у меня дома. -Родрик"

Родрик Хеффли

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