Camp Rock

MAy laughed. She took off her yankees cap and ran a hand through her streaked hair. She pulled out a empty sheet of music paper. "I'm writing at least one song this summer. Wanna help me?"
 
"Oh.... We can probaly complet something that willl be amazing." MAy grinned.
"So what else besides music do you like." She started to alk towards her cabin.
 
Is it too late to join? If not...

Name: Imogen Briary

Age: 15

Postion at camp: Singer/songwriter, pianist

Years Here: First

Bio: The youngest of six children (her siblings are the twins, Sable and Liam, 19; the eldest girl, Judelle, 18; and the twins Churchill and Claire, 17), Imogen is the most musical in her family. Her parents are divorced, and her father remarried a woman named Ebony Fuller. Her mother lives in London.
Imogen lives in Maryland.

Looks:
 
Last edited:
QueenSusanofNarnia said:
Is it too late to join? If not...

Name: Imogen Briary

Age: 15

Postion at camp: Singer/songwriter, pianist

Years Here: First

Bio: The youngest of six children (her siblings are the twins, Sable and Liam, 19; the eldest girl, Jude, 18; and the twins Churchill and Claire, 17), Imogen is the most musical in her family. Her parents are divorced, and her father remarried a woman named Ebony Fuller. Her mother lives in London.
Imogen lives in Maryland.

Looks:
Click to expand...



ooc: no u can join!!!
 
OOC: Yay!! :)

IC:
Imogen glanced around as she stepped out of the black stretch limousine. She'd wished her father hadn't sent that thing to pick her up from the airport. She knew it'd draw unwanted attention to her.
Sure enough, as the driver pulled her bags from the trunk, heads swivvled in her direction. Blushing, Imogen muttered a quick thanks to the driver and took the bags, hurrying towards the Office. She could feel the eyes of fellow campers on her as she walked quickly but steadily. Balance, something Imogen prided herself in having in a family of klutzes.
Imogen pulled open the door to the Office. She stepped inside and put her bags down on a chair. One of her bags - the big green duffelbag - held her clothes. The vintage tan backpack carried CDs, books, pencils, and lined paper. Even as she approached the desk, Imogen kept the binder containing her sheetmusic clutched tightly to her chest.
The airconditioning kicked on, making her shiver in her sleevless blue tanktop, and she was greatful she was wearing her favorite Grane jeans for the tenth time that day - cutoffs that day would have made her freeze in the airport, the limo, and the Office. There was a squeak as one of her Converse scuffed the tile floor as she reached the desk.
"Excuse me?" She said. The woman behind it looked up. "I'm sorry I'm late. There was a little traffic jam coming from the airport. I'm Imogen Briary."
 
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