Characters: Ciaran and Colby
Setting: Common room, Rienzi house
Rating: A bit of swearing.
Summary: I don't know, it hasn't happened yet!

An advantage of being tall? You could take up the entire length of a common room couch so that others couldn't sit next to you. An advantage of people thinking that you're a serial killer? Nobody dared ask you to shift up. Idle gossip had its uses after all.

With his feet resting on one sofa arm, his head resting on another and his Gibson guitar in his lap, Ciaran practiced a couple of solos with his headphones plugged in; he wasn't a complete asshole, after all. Iskra dozed by his legs, using a knee as her pillow as she spread out at the lower end of the sofa.

He was about halfway through a riff when his string snapped.

"Shit," he grumbled, pulling his headphones off. This was Brody fucking with his guitars again. Every time, every fucking time he took an instrument over to Ireland that bastard had to dick around with the tuning pegs. Now he had a big red mark on his arm to thank him for as well, douchebag.