@whiiteread
{ ❋ ❋ }
"Jer, where did you put that mic?!”
“I don’t know, where did I put that mic?!”
Zane pulled at his bangs as he raced around backstage. Show practice was in an hour, and crew was gathering up all the various props and pieces needed for the run-through.
Unfortunately, in the havoc of last night’s practice (which involved about three dozen feathers and a half-eaten box of spicy chicken wings), Jeremiah had misplaced one of the microphones, which just-so-happened to be one of the lead’s microphones.
Needless to say, Zane was a few seconds away from punching a hole into one of the sets. And maybe Jeremiah’s face.
As he turned a corner, he barely managed to avoid crashing into a light-brunette with a black beret--the name Blanc popped into his head.
“... Um, it’s Blanc, right? You haven’t happened to see a lone mic around here, have you?”
{ ❋ ❋ }
