Random Roleplays discussion

((Rp here!))

Mead was walking on the street, hands in his pockets. He had a hoodie pulled over his head.

"Whoah," Mead breathed. "Speeding a little?"

"Good girls don't drive without licenses," Mead raised an eyebrow.

"You look younger than me," he said, "and I'm too young."

Mead smirked. "Nice. I'd never mark up my skin like that."

Mead shook his head, but kept walking, avoiding the glances of passing girls.

Mead made his way back to his house in the Hills, and closed the door, relieved that he had avoided the paps.

Mead was in his music room, playing the piano, pausing to write down lyrics and notes, when he heard the cycle again. "Gandhi," he breathed.

Mead popped out of the room, looking out the window in the hallway. "Nice," he muttered. "Neighbours."

He shook his head, going back into the music room. "Some days..."

Mead sighed, sitting back down at his piano. "Mum," he muttered. "We shouldn't have moved here."

Mead's mother, Whitley, walked up to the window, looking out at the neighbours. "Mead," she called. "Do you know our neighbours?"

Mead shook his head, and Whitley sighed, walking down the stairs, out the front door. "Hello," she smiled, walking over.

"How are you?" She smiled, Whitney Trace was well-known for her smiles.

(Cool! Lemme see...Whitney looks like Laura Jayne Smith.))

She smiled, her blindingly white grin dazzling.

((Laura Jayne Smith. Ya know the dark-haired guy [Matt Smith] I USUALLY use for my guys? It's his older sister.))

"I didn't know you lived here," she said brightly.

"Well, welcome," she said.

Mead was looking out the window again. "Traitor," he said, acting like a soldier. "Mother hen is cavorting with the enemy."

"Julius?" Whitney smiled. "Oops, I mean Mead?"

Mead's eyes widened as he heard his name, and he opened the window. "Mother!"

Whitney smiled, rolling her eyes. "I'm being summoned by Julius," she said loudly. "See you guys later."

Whitney nodded, walking back to the house.

Mead leaned out the window, looking at Lyte. "I've got my eyes on you!"

He narrowed his eyes, then shut the window slowly. "I'm watching you," he mouthed.

Mead shook his head, then went off to scold his mother. "Julius?" He frowned.

He slunked back to his room, writing the rest of his new song, but not bothering to go to the music room to play it.

((What do we do now?))

Mead grew bored, falling asleep quickly.

((Alright. B-) Cool beans.))

Mead woke up, several hours later. The moon was shining in through his bedroom window. He got up from his bed, opening the window and looking out.

He jumped, then sighed. "Hey, neighbour. Just so you know, my name's not Julius."

"J. Mead. The J is silent, though. And I figured you were young."

"I'm sixteen. I'm just blond."

"Six even, and not growing."

He stuck out his tongue at her. "How did you get that cycle?"

"Seriously? For a birthday present, I get a trip to Cancun, or Rome."

"Some grandpa. My grandpa gave me his old pocket watch."

"I see," Mead said quietly.

"Nothing, really."

"Sing. Act, sometimes," he shrugged. "Mum's usually gone on tour, so I'm always stuck at home with the maids."

"Nice," Mead nodded.

"I usually walk around, trying to hide my incredibly recognisable face."

"Of course I am," he frowned. "Incredibly."

"I was pretty much set, 'cos Mum's real famous. Whit Trace, superstar."

"I've probably seen his stuff then. And you've probably heard my stuff."

"Some. People usually just refer to me as the much-better-looking-Bieber. Except I've hit puberty."

"I do sing some rock," he frowned.

"You rock?"

"I see, said the blind man," Mead nodded.

"I know. That was the name of my first album. Well, sort of. Actually, not really..."

"It was Julius Caesar," he said. "'Cos, my name's not Julius. I just wanted to name my album Julius...Caesar..." He face-palmed.

"That's what the silent J in my name is for. Joker."

"So, what about your name? Is it just Lyte?"

"What's your first name?" He smiled.