Emancipated and Quite Capable

Jack was damp from an early fall rain shower and exhausted from classwork as he flopped onto his bed and tried to convince himself that he wanted to work on an economics paper.

His concentration was not helped by the so-called music coming from Kevin's room. Never again would he live with a random flatmate, he vowed. The bastard drank and ate almost everything vaguely edible, didn't know how to wash a dish from what Jack could tell, and then -- and then there was this:

Take me by the tongue
And I'll know you
Kiss me till you're drunk
And I'll show you

You want the moves like Jagger
I've got the moves like Jagger
I've got the mooooooves... like Jagger

The worst of it was that the damned thing kept getting caught in his head, and Jack was more than slightly wobbly on who a Jagger was.

He couldn't ponder the damned song and study. After an attenmpot to bang on the walls, which Kevin ignored, he set his textbooks aside and tapped out a text for a ... select audience.

Rotten day. Tell me a joke and give me one reason not to throttle my roommate. Miss having my own space.

[OOC: If you think you got the text, you did! Also open for phone calls and for visitors, if you're passing through his dimension for some strange reason. I will log off soon, but SP is beautiful.]

Jack came back for Emma, of course.

Emma was shiny.

And seemed bizarrely unconcerned by that fact.

Jack didn't give her time to explain or talk him out of it; he was back in Fandom on the first portal. He didn't want to think about what it had cost -- whatever it was, it was worth it.

He texted Emma and settled in front of the minibar to wait.