I swear to crap (open)

[Cale Rosiér]

Cale Rosiér, already begging for the semester to be through, hated his roommate. Nic Reinnel was the kind of guy whose papers, clothes, and personal belongings crept along the floor, expanding his empire and domineering the greater proportion of the room. He constantly stayed up all night receiving text messages from the various tramps, jerk-wads, and losers that he called friends, taking special care to leave the ringer up to full volume no matter what in the morning it may happen to be.

Every day, Cale hoped with all his heart that Nic would quit school, but somehow in between all his dicking around with his phone and going into town to drink (even during the week) Reinnel always managed to hover delicately above the minimum required performance to avoid serious punitive action.

Thus, Rosiér left the dump he was forced to call home to have a cigarette on the benches outside the apartment and start an outline for a history paper.

[Cale Rosiér]

After crafting a solid skeleton for his assignment, he decided to nap in between classes. He had at least an hour before English, so he let himself drop onto his bed with his clothes and shoes and everything and held his red notebook open in case inspiration struck.

"Mm..."

Reflecting on his last real fight, he drew the parallel between now and then. His fading consciousness was bliss then and it was now, drifting into a land that needed no responsibility or determination. Without realizing it, remembering the feeling of having the tar kicked out of him and having his skull jarred enough to render him faint had relaxed him. It was a feeling equal to or greater than even the passive-aggressive, bittersweet sentiments experienced after a successful bout. The release of defeat, when truly sound, was just as nice as spitting in the loser's face and calling him every dirty name he could think of. His disdain for people he beat up was really all his petty issues being vented all at once, but the relaxation of being knocked out was a little slice of pure heaven.

Dreams of baguettes, fancy cigarettes, and beautiful hats ensued...he would be late for class.

[traytaine]

OOC: Double posting is frowned upon. I thought of joining, but I don't see exactly how you expect interaction in a classroom while your asleep. Beyond that good luck.

[Cale Rosiér]

OOC: Thanks for the tip, man, I appreciate it. Being new to the scene, I'm just a little over-excited to start developing character and goofing around. I'll see if I can't get this back on track and more open to interaction.

IC: Thankfully, Cale's nap didn't really have much of a negative effect. He suffered through English, groggy and aloof, and sustained only a crack to the side of the head for "waltzing in" a minute late. He left class with the intent of bring the guitar ouside later on that night once it started to quiet down. He pushed his way through the halls and out the door, setting a brisk pace towards his room.