{mxm} Murder on his Mind {18+}

[Carcass Eyes]

ooc| If you do not know what the layout for this roleplay is, and my reasons for a such, please click here.


Rules~
One; No chatspeak in play. Heck, out of character you can speak 1337 for all I care. But it is strictly of the literal English language when in character.
Two; No character profiles.
Three; Introductions must be more than six paragraphs long. The posts can be normal length. No one lining when roleplaying. Heck, no four lining either. I want you to put effort in what you type.
Four; As for the quality, I don't ask for mere literacy. I ask for advanced literacy.
Five; This roleplay is a walk-in. If you don't know what that is, PM me.
Six; Post 'This is a Band Roleplay' (of which it is) before your introduction to show you have read the rules.
Seven; Please understand the meaning of the title. It says 'mxm'. That means this is a Male x Male roleplay. Don't like it? Go away. Don't you dare flame.


ic|
The insistent buzzing in his ears was annoying. A pale slender hand, the nails tipped in black and white, shot out from the tangle of covers and hit at the clock that dared to wake him up. Finally quiet, besides his muttered words, reigned in the hotel room. My God what a damn night that was. Could it have gone better?

A head poked out and messy auburn hair shot up in all directions still heavy with the gel used to style it. The tips were dyed black and cut into various lengths creating a scene of disorder. Bleary Grayish blue irises blinked open and surveyed the mess about him. Empty soda and beer cans littered his floor along with half eaten pizza and chips that should have stayed in the bag but somehow managed to miss mouths and hit the carpet instead.

He was glad he didn’t have to clean it. Yawning he swung his legs over the side of the bed and made his way to the spacious bathroom. “What the ****?” he muttered surveying himself in the mirror. He had a bruise on the base of his neck. A nice sized one too. And soon as he found out which idiot in his crew did it heads would roll. He ran his fingers over it and frowned. My God how drunk had he been not to remember that?

Shaking his head he pursed his thin lips still coated in black and grabbed the make up remover. He should have washed the mascara and kohl off the night before but obviously he had been too wasted to bother with it. Several minutes later his face held a healthy glow and the features that stared back at him no longer looked like death. A gently rounded chin, cheekbones not to low or high, small nose that he refused to pierce despite the bands disapproval. He was not defacing his … well his face.

Steam soon coated the mirror and distorted the image as he turned the shower on and stepped under the shooting water. He leaned back against the wall and let the hot spray sting his pale skin. Lightly muscled he bore only a slight six pack and perhaps he was a bit too thin. He stretched and rippled like a feline before quickly finishing up and stepping from the stall.

His hair was gelled and once more looked like he tumbled from bed. Soon he left the bathroom behind. He was already late and he was wasting too much time getting ready.
“Where the bloody hell are my jeans,” he grumbled then gave a triumphant hoot when he pulled the mangled black denim from his bag. He slipped them on but really could they be called jeans any longer? Ripped and practically falling apart they flashed and showed a vast expanse of pale skin and white boxers.

Several strands of thin chains were strung through the belt loops, the ends dangling down his front almost to his knees. It only served to weigh the already low slung jeans down pushing them further off his slim hips till it looked like air held them up. He snatched up a fishnet shirt that ended just above his well tone abdomen this too having more ragged tears and holes. He fingered the earring that dangled down, a thin silver chain holding a cross. Religious? It was hardly the case for Zeph, the lead singer of the Morbid Deaths; odd name for an odd group.

Black combat boots were pulled on before he headed back to the bathroom. He didn’t feel like heavy make-up so decided to settle for light purple eyeliner and lined his lips in black filling the rest in with a light shade of red. Sauntering back out he attached a leather collar studded with short spikes around his slender throat and several bracelets that matched were slid onto his thin wrists.

One last look and he left the hotel room catching the elevator to the lobby. Now where the hell was the crew? He surveyed the lobby and headed toward the dining room once more touching the very visible love bite. With murder on his mind he entered the eating area and let his gaze sweep the room. Today was an off day for rest but they still met to at least eat before going their separate ways. |

[Summoner Yuna]

ooc = Whoa. Another one! I'm joininggggg. XD Sorry. Can't help it.
Yourliteracyskillsareirresistable. =


ic =
Someone had forgotten to close the curtains the night before, so instead of waking up on his own, he was given a wakeup call by the sun, yelling at him though the window. Oh wasn’t life grand?

A slim body stretched beneath the covers, and amber eyes blinked open, first looking to the left of him, where thankfully there was nobody still asleep, and then to his watch. Oh crap, was that the time? Why couldn’t he get back to sleep?

It was only after he sat up, rubbing his face, did he feel the after-effects of last night’s splurge on alcohol, and he moaned softly as a headache started playing its own concert inside his head. Muttering to himself about parties, he reached out to the table beside his bed, and snagged a joint.

He went to the pocket of his leather pants, and produced a lighter, which had caused a bruise on his hip as he slept. “Damned thing,” he murmured quietly, lighting the small white cylinder with a flick of his thumb and inhaling on the smoke.

A couple of quick tokes and he was ready for the day. ‘Ember’ as he was known, put the joint back down in an ashtray, and slid out of bed, the headache gone, only to be replaced by dizziness. Oh well, can’t have everything, can you?

The 5’11’ male sauntered over to the mirror, admiring himself for a few seconds. He was dressed in his leather pants that he’d worn last night, and of course he was going commando underneath them. Who could wear underwear with leather pants?

After looking at his lightly tanned and muscled body, his focus automatically went to his hair, and he undid the waist-length braid, combing it through with his fingers, before redoing it again. He loved his hair, because it was his trademark. He wouldn’t be Ember without it. Frankly he was surprised that they hadn’t cut it off yet in one of their wild parties. And from the looks of the room, it had been wild indeed.

Stripping off his pants, he waded though the mess of his room, looking for something more comfortable to wear. He picked up the joint as he did this, as the headache was returning to him. Finally he found a pair of red boxers, and whilst slipping them on, he found a pair of decent-looking jeans.

On his feet went a pair of black boots, chosen for the size of them, rather then the durability. A black vest was pulled onto his top half, and he surveyed the look in the mirror. Good enough.

Striding into the bathroom, he glanced in the mirror in there, and spent a few minutes washing his face. So what if he was slightly vain? A light dusting of grey eye shadow was soon put on, along with a smidge of eyeliner. It was their day off, and why was he getting ready to look good? That escaped him.

With the joint still hanging from his lips, and giving him the usual dopey grin, he stole a quick glance over at his guitar, which was sitting propped over in the corner. “Daddy loves you baby,” he said, blowing the instrument a kiss before he left the room, snickering softly.

Heading down to the lobby, he looked both ways, blue smoke curling from his mouth, and he finally spotted Zeph sitting alone at one of the tables. Chuckling as he moved over, he slid into the seat beside him, crushing the joint in the ashtray.

“Whoa, what happened to you last night Zeph?” He asked snickering again. And this wasn’t entirely from the weed. “Looks like someone got a little action last night,” he added, his Australian accent showing through. =

[Carcass Eyes]

ooc| You joined another one. Er ... w3wt ...? |


ic|
He saw no one yet and heaved a frustrated sigh as he picked an empty table and ordered a coffee. Hot and black suited his mood just well. He touched his temple and scowled before dropping his hand and tapping the table with idle fingers.

He should have known his crew wouldn't be up yet. Lazy ass bastards. He wrapped his cold fingers around the hot cup when it arrived and stared at the steam that curled and rose from it.

He was lost in thought when he felt someone sit beside him and he glanced up. Ember... one of the wilder one's of their small group. His features darkened at the man's words.

"**** off Ember," he growled and took a sip of his drink curising the red stain that flushed his cheeks. Everyone knew Zeph didn't whore around. He had his reasons too. |

[Summoner Yuna]

Ember grinned at him, getting a coffee as well, and actually putting milk into his. For the moment, the headache was gone, and he was pain-free, with a major high, and a craving for something to eat. One of the side affects of his addiction to weed.

A soft chuckle from his mouth at Zeph’s words, who should know by now that Ember didn’t heed to half the things that he said. “Oooohh, touchy, touchy,” he said, shaking his head. “And what’s this, a blush from you Zeph? Something new. I wish I had a camera to take a picture.”

He knew how to wind people up, and as this was one of his favourite pastimes, well, he practised it on Zeph, whenever the man let him get close enough. But Ember was always teasing. Part of his childish nature.