Writingishnessism

[reymonkey]

You know the drill, gimme song lyrics for RP character drabbles! I don't promise they'll be good, and I don't promise to write your character well, but.. you know.

Dooooo it! The skull meatballs of doom demand it!

I has a birthday cake.

Comments

[morripede.livejournal.com]

Where does the answer lie?
Living from day to day
If it's something we can't buy
There must be another way
We are spirits in the material world

Your meatballs of doom do not scare Dr. Octavius!

[reymonkey.livejournal.com]

Where does the answer lie?
Living from day to day
If it's something we can't buy
There must be another way
We are spirits in the material world

Even in this city it was common practice to weave around, look straight ahead, and pretend not to see the profferred hand or hat. Even in the midst of Christmas shopping. They were there because they wouldn't work, or drank their money away. They were there because they were too lazy to be anywhere else.
Dr. Schreber knew better, but at this late date some of those beliefs were true. Some with a strength of will had fought off the life they'd been imprinted with and found work and stability again, while others had neglected their given roles and fallen by the wayside. He found himself wishing, as he had to step over, that this particular bum had not left his legs stretched out. The crowds were thick and he was slow with his cane and shopping bags, pushed to the edge by the crush of humanity, and into closer proximity to those who lingered at the fringes. He only glanced down, unsure of himself at this close range. His poor peripheral vision took in an older face, lined with grim frustration. The lines were briefly broken by a fit of coughing, and the long legs pulled up awkwardly out of his way as the bum tuned a guitar.
It was the belated 'Sorry' that caught him.
Before the crowd swept him on, Dr. Schreber looked at the face of a man who had spent many hours in his home singing, joking, and exchanging intellectual philosophies, and saw a stranger.
The crowd passed on as Rat played his guitar, hat on the pavement, invisible.