SecretlyDiscord — Roleplayer Guild

The Beatles (bless 'em) were a rock band. They were a boy band prototype, I guess, but not an actual boy band. I think the distinction between boy band and actual band is whether or not they made all the sounds you hear. The Jonas Brothers were a boy band because none of them played the drums. The Beatles had Ringo (groan of general reluctance). Therefore, an actual band. 

Boy Bands:                                Bands:
The Jonas Brothers                        The Beatles
One Direction                             Fall Out Boy
NSync                                     5 Seconds of Summer

The content of their songs and the quality of the band is besides to point. Take 5SOS for example. ;P

EDIT: Joe didn't really play any instrument. He should have stepped up and learned the drums. Joe. >:[

EDIT EDIT: @Treue Take your time. There's no rush. :)

Vincent rubbed his neck and rolled his shoulders in a makeshift stretch. He felt so physically exhausted that a rest didn't sound like such a bad idea. At that moment, Vincent thought how nice it would be if his mind would stop reeling for long enough to let him fall asleep. He didn't know what to think about if not what he would have to do tomorrow to get food. Vincent had not had a moment free from his thoughts since before he and his sister left home. 

Vincent did not have time to enjoy his cleared mind because, before he knew it, his malfunction acted up again. The murmurs of the room were silenced and replaced by tormented screaming. One of the voices belonged to his sister. A faint wiff of blood and formaldehyde accompanied the terrifying audio. Vincent shut his eyes and clamped the palms of his hands over his ears, fingers still intertwined behind his head. He tried to stop it, but the horror decided to take its sweet time. His eyes welled up with tears and he started to murmur to himself in an attempt to maintain some sanity. 

Finally, the episode ended. Vincent blinked a few times before looking around. He let his hands drop from his ears and onto his knees. He sat up straight. Vincent's face now matched what is body felt, too tired to be conscious but too nervous to go to sleep. His eyes glossed over, zoned out and tired. Vincent hoped he was staring at a wall, not a person. He wouldn't be willingly aware for a while. His mind was preoccupied with determining whether or not those two senses were a part of the same moment. 

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Maggie twisted so that she was on her stomach and hanging over the side of the top bunk. She looked first at Vincent, who was facing away from her. Her auburn hair, now out of its ponytail, hung behind her upside down head. It almost reached the bottom mattress. Margaret spent a moment wondering if her brother was okay. She figured that he would be alright, given some time to readjust to captivity. He usually came around to changes in his surroundings, even if he grumbled along the way. 

Her attention soon faded from Vincent and focused instead on the rest of the room. She decided to play a game that she'd invented during the long and tedious days of panhandling in the city. Maggie picked a person and began to invent their whole life's story. For some, she invented lives of luxury and fame, which was not difficult to do seeing as she wasn't exactly a film and music buff. Maggie pretended that she was in a room filled with celebrities. She stopped pretending when her dark eyes fell upon a roommate whose story she'd rather hear than invent.

"Wanna trade shirts?" Maggie asked, smiling sympathetically. "Mine's really baggy. I'm not used to big shirts," she added then chuckled softly. "My name's Margaret but you can call me Maggie." Margaret extended her right hand in a handshake.

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Back in the Metaphorical Saddle, baby.

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