A - JAMIE IS PROBABLY GOING TO END UP IN THE WOMEN'S LOCKER ROOM AGAIN: (open to all) Somebody out there wants him to do something, that much he can figure out; he just doesn't know who or what or where to go. It's maddening, like an itch he can't scratch or a face he can't quite match to a name, and the only thing he can think of to alleviate it is to keep moving, keep looking for whatever it is that's calling him.
And so he prowls HQ, from the stairwells to the front lobby and everywhere in between. His progress is impeded by the fact that he's occasionally overwhelmed by a sense of disorientation that leaves him lingering in random areas with a bewildered expression, as though he can't quite remember what he was doing or how he got there.
B - JAMIE CAN'T STOP THE MUSIC: (open to all) As he wanders, he can't stop thinking about music. Not that it doesn't already constitute a significant portion of his daily thought processes, given his line of work, but the need to express himself musically is even more pressing than usual. In the elevator between floors, waiting in line at a coffeeshop, poking his nose into some isolated corner or another - he's humming, singing under his breath, tapping out a rhythm, even breaking stride to work in some dance moves. At some point during the day, he commandeers a piano in one of the rehearsal rooms and starts banging out a melody - something as meandering and improvised as the rest of his movements have been today.
No matter what he does, it never seems to be enough - the more he indulges in the urge to create, the more he wants to keep doing it. Criticism and collaboration alike are equally welcome, and interruptions won't keep him down for long - more than likely he'll derive inspiration from all but the most abrasive of intrusions.
Jamie|Hope|Pride HQ
Somebody out there wants him to do something, that much he can figure out; he just doesn't know who or what or where to go. It's maddening, like an itch he can't scratch or a face he can't quite match to a name, and the only thing he can think of to alleviate it is to keep moving, keep looking for whatever it is that's calling him.
And so he prowls HQ, from the stairwells to the front lobby and everywhere in between. His progress is impeded by the fact that he's occasionally overwhelmed by a sense of disorientation that leaves him lingering in random areas with a bewildered expression, as though he can't quite remember what he was doing or how he got there.
B - JAMIE CAN'T STOP THE MUSIC: (open to all)
As he wanders, he can't stop thinking about music. Not that it doesn't already constitute a significant portion of his daily thought processes, given his line of work, but the need to express himself musically is even more pressing than usual. In the elevator between floors, waiting in line at a coffeeshop, poking his nose into some isolated corner or another - he's humming, singing under his breath, tapping out a rhythm, even breaking stride to work in some dance moves. At some point during the day, he commandeers a piano in one of the rehearsal rooms and starts banging out a melody - something as meandering and improvised as the rest of his movements have been today.
No matter what he does, it never seems to be enough - the more he indulges in the urge to create, the more he wants to keep doing it. Criticism and collaboration alike are equally welcome, and interruptions won't keep him down for long - more than likely he'll derive inspiration from all but the most abrasive of intrusions.