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[OOM (with rocks in): Mark ~~comes out of the~~ raids Roger's closet.]

The door opens, and a stereotypical musician walks through. Messy blonde hair, leather jacket, band t-shirt and ripped jeans. Not to mention the Fender guitar case. He sits down at a table, pulls out the guitar and tries to tune up.
This won't tune. So we hear.
That's not a musician, though. That's Mark Cohen, sans camera, scarf, and glasses, and looking one hell of a lot like his roommate. Feel free to boggle.

[ooc note: Mark is under the influence of Music with Rocks In. It can be contageous. But it doesn't have to be.]

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Looking so much like Roger, in fact, that it throws Angel off for a moment.
"Hey, Rog--" He cuts off, blinking. "Mark?"
...Okay, this is a little weird.

Mark's singing as Angel comes over, the guitar picking out a badly tuned countermelody to his singing.

As strange as this is, it's also kind of funny. Excuse Angel while he gigglefits.
Anyway: "...You might be the better person to answer that question, honey."

Angel raises an eyebrow. "Doesn't mean you have to dress like Roger, though. I mean, don't you usually film random shit at this juncture?"

Film. Something eats at the corner of Mark's mind.

"Well, if you say so - I mean, to everything there is a season, and all that. But I don't know if this quite merits the Roger approach."

"Did I ever once say I didn't know that?"
And then he notices what's really wrong with this picture. Aside from the obvious.
"...Mark? Where's your camera?"

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the_antiangst - 2006-01-11 00:27 (UTC) - Expand

O hay, another musical type! The yellow thing wanders over hopefully.

It's a yellow thing. Mark blinks at it for a moment, then laughs. "

"Pikapi," it replies politely, then points at the guitar. "Pikapika?"

Uh. Mark just blinks, then laughs a bit. ""

"Pikapi!" it answers, nodding, "Pikachu, pi pikapika." It demonstrates some Hott Dance Moves.

Mark grins at the little dancing thing, picking out a bit of an energetic tune on the guitar.

All RIGHT! It is time to shake some fuzzy yellow booty!

Now all it needs is a pickle drum.

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bohemian-mark.livejournal.com - 2006-01-10 23:25 (UTC) - Expand

This is the part where Carl Enters.

"Hey fella, are you okay?"

He's used to scruffy people, it is the depression after all.
"Times are tough son, very tough. Can I get you somethin' to eat?"

Lend a hand, that's Carl's philosphy.

Mark looks up from his guitar-playing and shakes his head. "

Carl backs up a few inches, "...Sorry to hear that son." Carl says sympathetically, "Does sound rough definately. "

He knows, he's got a wife at home, lucky kid, not tied down to anything...free as a bird...

"...you like her alot or somethin?" Carl's good at giving people money, not...conselling them.

"My fault, really. I, er, kinda cheated on her with my ex-girlfriend." Mark shrugs, "By the way, I'm Mark Cohen. Should probably inroduce myself."

Carl grins, "Carl Denham. Showman, Artist, purveyor of the strange and mystical."

He does his little trick with his businesscard, making it appear out of nowhere.

"And believe me, I hear ya." He leans down to pat the fellow reassuringly, "Dames, the stories I could tell ya kid..."

Mark takes the card and reads, then grins a bit.

Strange? Strange is gigantic mutant bugs, strange is Kong..

"Enjoy it while It lasts kiddo." Carl says sadly, "Man how I envy you kid. Enjoy it now cause-"

Well? to be perfectly frank, a strange life's bound to be filled with adventure, and of course- And Carl's liking that idea until-

Then he freezes, "Did you say she left you for a woman?"

Mark laughs, "