shut up && play;; [OPEN!]

[rylan hartman]

Rylan sat on his bed in his dorm, admiring his newly aquired instrument. It was a pretty thing, that was for sure. Shiny and bright red, the new strings begging to be put to use. It had taken him an entire year to save up to buy a new guitar. The one that he had wanted, anyways. Unlike the majority of the rich brats that attended Hoffman, Rylan actually had to work to get the things that he wanted. He could't just run to mommy and daddy and beg for cash. No, his parents stopped giving him money when he was about fifteen. There were two reasons for that. The number one reason was that they wanted Rylan to get his own job. The second was because they were concerned he was using every cent they gave him to go off and buy alcohol or something like that. They were only right about that half the time. But those days were long gone and Rylan had since cleaned up his 'act'. Music was now his only focus.

Unable to resist the beauty of his new guitar, Rylan decided to take it on a trip to the practice hall. He rolled off his bed and looked underneath it for his guitar case, the one that he could sling onto his back. He zipped it open and with all the care in the world, laid his instrument inside. He gazed at it admiringly one last time before zipping it up. Making sure he had his picks and guitar strap first, Rylan then slid the case's straps over his shoulders. He grabbed his room key on the way out and shoved his feet into a pair of black and white checkered Vans. Once in the hallway, he headed off in the direction of the practice hall. He passed by a row of windows and noticed there was rain pounding against the glass. He stopped for a moment to gaze out. Rylan had always liked the rain, while most people prefered sunshine. To him, rain was sort of poetic in a way. Whenever he tried to explain this, people tended to shake their heads. Rylan wasn't really known for his deep, serious side. He was known as being an all around goofball. He turned away from the window and continued on his way.

It didn't take long to reach his destination and in only ten minutes time, he was pushing open the door to the practice hall. He was surprised to see it empty. Usually there was at least one person practicing, especially on a rainy day like this one. Oh well. He wasn't complaining about having the space to himself. He walked down the aisle to the stage, climbing up the stairs. He ventured over to one of the larger amps and set down his case. He carefully removed his instrument and slid the strap over his shoulder. It was red with white skulls on it, his favorite. He plugged in and did a practice strum. He smiled as the sound echoed off the walls. He shoved the chair out of the way. Rylan always liked to stand when he played, unless it was a slower song. There was more room to move about. After a few more practice chords, Rylan started playing one of his favorite songs. It took only a few moments for him to really lose himself in the music. It was like that every time he played. Like an escape from reality.

[Jared Hollyingsworth]

It had been a long night. A very long night, and it wasn't over yet. Jared's dark eyes were finding it very hard to stay open. He wasn't entierly sure why he was so tired, he wasn't pissed and he wasn't high. It wasn't an after party or anything like that, it was just a banging headache and a tired streak. The seventeen year old ran a hand through his light brown hair, rubbing his face. He needed to get some sleep, but didn't know hell around this place at night. It was dark and raining. It had been raining for the last week or so and was going to still rain, that's all it did here, it rained. In Norwich it rained a lot. He couldn't see why Britain didn't just export rain to drought countries. It would solve a lot of problems. Especially grumpy Brits.

Jared rolled up the sleeves of his jumper. He was wet anyway from not having an umbrella or coat, so being wet didn't really matter to him. He yawned, having to hit him around the back of the head to keep himself awake. Something his father had taught him. If you couldn't get your hands on coffee or a great deal of caffine, whack yourself on the head. Not too hard, just hard enough to wake up. Jared's father was a doctor and usually worked double shifts. With three children you had to work as hard as possible. The Hollyingsworth family didn't exactly rake in the cash. Hell, Jared was here on a scholarship, lucky he didn't have to pay fees. He wouldn't be here if he did.

Okay, where was he? The tall actor looked around. No lights were visible at this perfectly reasonable time of night: around 2:30am. Jared sighed. Well it didn't really matter where he spent the night, did it? Not in the long run. He pushed open the first door he found and walked in. Another door was easily found to his right. It was cold, but it was dry. Probably an art room or soemthing. Jared didn't really spend much time anywhere else except the staging areas. He was an actor after all. He acted and you didn't act in an art room. Or if you did, you were at the wrong school. Jared looked around the gloom. It was dark, but he could just make out the seats infront of him. Shit, he was in a practise room. He rolled his eyes, but really couldn't be bothered to go anywhere else. This was perfectly fine as a place to stay for the night. Jared slumped into one of the seats, of course, being as completely sloshed as he was, yes he was pissed, he fell on the floor in the middle of the row.

The sharp chord from the guitar woke him with a start. Jared sat up, bashing his head on the chair infront. He groaned and sat up again, more carefully. He rubbed his eyes and looked around. The second chord had him jumping to his feet. It was only when he realised there was someone else in the practise room did he sit on the back of one of the chairs, staring down at the guitarist.
"Morning." He called, running a hand through his messed up hair.

[rylan hartman]

Rylan's fingers seemed to dance over the strings as he played, making it look easy. Yet he knew better than anyone that you couldn't just pick up a guitar and expect to actually play well. He recieved his first guitar when he was nine years old. The very first time he tried to play, he broke one of the strings and preceeded to throw a hissy fit about it until Landon fixed it for him. Older brothers were good for that sort of thing. Even then, all he could really do was make a lot of terrible noise at an extremely loud level. He took lessons from an old, retired local rockstar for the next five years of his life. Besides playing a lot of music, he listened to a lot of music. He went to alot of concerts. Most of all, he spent a lot of time dreaming of the day when he could be the one on stage. Now, Rylan was confident to say he was good at playing. He was very good.

He strummed the opening chords of another familiar song, not even hearing the door to the practice room open. The music was too loud and Rylan was pretty much oblivious to the rest of the world when he had a guitar in his hands. He silenced the strings with the palm of his hands, twisting one of the machine heads to tune his instrument. At the sudden sound of another voice, his eyes shot up. He peered around the dimly lit room until finally spotting a figure seated in one of the back rows. He didn't recognize the voice, so he doubted he would know the face. A small grin tugged at the corners of his lips. "Morning." He answered back, promptly sitting on the ground and crossing his legs indian style. He went to work tuning his guitar, twisting the machine heads on the end of the guitar's neck.

He could still hear the rain pounding against the glass of the window, now that he had stopped playing. "What brings you here at this extremely odd hour?" Rylan asked, keeping his gaze focused on his instrument. He turned down the volume of the amp to soft, background noise. He strummed another chord. Still out of tune. "Damn." He muttered slightly, picking at the string.

[Jared Hollyingsworth]

Jared blinked the worst of the tiredness from his eyes. He yawned, putting a ahnd over his mouth. He stood up, stretching his hands behind his back, shoulders clicking back into a much more comfortable position. Lying on the sloping floor of the Practise Hall all night wasn't exactly the most comfortable position. He rubbed the side of his head that had whacked into the chair infront. It was throbbing gently. He looked down towards the stage again. It was only polite not to shout across the room, so he straightened up and walked down the aisles towards stage. He pulled his jacket around his shoulders, where it had slipped down his arms. He might look desheveled and really rough, but at least he was awake. Awake with a banging headache, but being an actor could hide it well.

He jumped the stage steps onto the stage, sitting on the edge, legs dangling over the edge. Not quiet touching the floor, but it was a way off the sloping floor. He half turned to see the guitarist he'd interupted. He could ask whether he was interupting or not, but didn't see the point, he'd already done it and it wouldn't make much difference any more if he was. If he was asked to leave, he would, but no-one had asked him yet. Jared shrugged at the question posed to him.
"This is an odd hour of the morning?" He asked, raising his eyebrows.
"What time are you usually up in the morning?" He offered a smile, cheerful as usual.

The actor crossed one foot onto the oppersite knee, leaning back onto the stage. He closed his eyes, ignoring the dull throb behind his forhead. Maybe the last three pints had been a mistake.
"I'm Jared, by the way." He commented, opening one eye too watch Rylan. It was only polite. Jared had always been told to be polite, even if now a days he was a total bastard a lot of the time. He closed the dark eye again, folding both hands behind his head.