COOK, Anderson richard

[andypandy]

anderson richard cook
twenty-one,, virginia beach,, say you love me//merch ,, gayy ,, hyperactive ,, christofer drew ingle.
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Hi, hey, hello. my name's annnnndddyyyy. alright so it's not andy my real name is anderson, but that's soooo loonnnnnnng and boooorrrring, so everyone just calls me andy. c: well, my mommy doesn't call me that when i'm in trouble, she calls me anderson and it's not fun. kso. i'm twenty one years old, born on july sixth right after my big brother rory. we're identical twins just so you know, and we're realllly close. rory's reeeeally quiet, but that's okay because he's still amazing.

People say that I'm like a child, aparently i act like i'm five, but i can't help it. i'm just happy alllll the time. but i am a huge softy, i got bullied a lot when we were growing up and stuff because i carried around my blanky and my squirtle a lot. I still have my squirtle, but my banky died. :c well mommy put my blanky inside of my squirtle which makes him a whole lot more special. My daddy tried to take him away from me when I was fifteen and I was sad. My mommy made him give it back to me because my mommy's got my back. c:

I'm immature, innocent, and super super super hyper. I don't really have a long attention span. Rory says it's realllllly annoying, but I don't notice it a whole lot. I guess when you're the one who's doing it you don't really notice. right well i'm innocent, i've been told that i'm naive, which is true i guess. I mean I always pretty much see all the good in people... well to an extent. I'm also pretty hyper. I'm always bouncing where I sit or shaking, or skipping from place to place. It's impossible for me not to. I can't sit still, i never have been able to.

I'M REAAAAAAAAAALLY SLOW AND KLUTZY. yeah i fall down and trip a lot. :c but it's okay because Rory makes it better normally. And some people say i lack common sense, but it's not my fault I get confused easily. Rory says I have to have things spelled out with a big fat crayon, but it's okay because I think he gets tired of having to take care of me all the time and Rory has his own flaws.

I'm also reaaaally loud, and a pansy. :c Or so I've been told a lot. Oh well. I don't care. I'm brave in my own way. right? ... right? I ALMOST FORGOT. apparently I can be manipulative, but as if. I mean I couldn't hurt a fly... well I can hurt spiders if they're reaaaaally small, those big ones are too scary. :c
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^{hey, so i'm MEGAN. i've been roleplaying for 4/5 years/b] now. as well as this character, i also play RORYBABY. you can reach me by pm is fine/msn if you need me for anything. i found PERFECT DYSFUNCTION by aLySsA and i'm pretty glad i did. here's an example of mah skillz. (:}

Rory smiled as he looked around at the various chords spread around the stage. He liked doing his job therefore he did it well. He had a nice system going for him, he made sure that all of the chords were put away in such a way that made them impossible to get tangled. It wasn't as if it never happened though, they always somehow managed to get tangled. He used to get so frustrated with those stupid black wires, but he just mellowed out and found a system that worked... normally. It was obvious though that he often tweaked his techniques so that it would make it easier, he was always experimenting with those silly things. Well anyways, it was his first time on tour with this new band. He hoped that it was going to be fun to work with them because he liked his job. Well, that was a bit of a stretch, he didn't particularly like untangling wires upon wires, and cleaning up after people. He did, however, like the satisfaction of knowing that he was a huge piece of how the band functioned. That and he was pretty damn good at what he did.

He chewed on his lip silently as he waited for his mind to decide what he wanted to start with. The sooner he finished here the sooner he could smoke the joint... or was it a cigarette? ... whatever, the thing behind his ear, the substance full of something either illegal or addictive. Whichever item it was he knew that it would be absolutely wonderful, and completely satisfying. His lighter was ready and waiting in his pocket with his phone, the two objects he almost always had in whichever pants' pockets he was wearing. His eyes danced across the back stage area as he debated which wires he was going to go at first. His eyes darted to the boxes shaped strategically like guitars where the guitars and basses were kept. He smirked, duh, right there. Rory began with the guitars and put each one away in their respective cases before he moved on to the drums.

It was as if by magic most of the chords were away in their boxes, the microphones and their stands were well away, the guitars had been staked neatly, the drums were placed off to the side, and there were only a few last chords to be placed in one of the last boxes. Rory was sweating a little from the heat and the effort that he was exerting on the different instruments accessories; the important accessories that were nearly, and usually, completely necessary to any show that was played by any band ever. Rory chewed on his lip, he really wanted to finish sooner rather than later. He really wanted to know what drug was behind his ear, it was bugging him but he was not going to stop working to check. It'd be a nice surprise after he was done, if he ever got done. He checked the time on his phone and nearly died, he hadn't even been at this for very long, why the fuck did it seem to be taking him a fucking eternity.

He tossed another coiled up wire into it's box and took a sip of his juice box, glad that he'd remembered a couple of juice boxes for on the job. He probably wouldn't have been able to function without one. It was safe to say that Rory needed either a smoke or apple juice to get something done. The smoke, since he wasn't sure if he had a joint or a cigarette, would have to wait, so he'd settle for a juice box. That and he'd left his ciggies in his backpack, and only god knew where Rory'd left that piece of shit. He'd have to find it though, his wallet was in it. Of course there'd be something super super important in that stupid backpack.

He frowned for a moment as he tossed the last of the chords into the box. It was beginning to bother him a little. Where the hell would he have set that stupid rut-sack, with his luck he would have left it on the stairs back there. It was quite obvious that he wasn't paying attention when he got up on stage. Whatever, he'd have to suffer the consequences of being an idiot.

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