He'd woken up confused, naked and with sheets crumpled up at the foot of the bed, but he'd had the chance to scrape off the sweat in a long hot shower. When he'd claimed the apartment, he'd taken the room with the bathroom attached that had less space, but a bathroom all to itself, and he abused the privilege shamelessly; he'd installed a custom shower head on the thing and had a shower curtain that looked like it had blood splattered all over it -- he loved that cheesy shit and he was able to put it up because that bathroom was his.

By the time he'd gotten out there and saw Julie brush past, he realized that the girls might not be playing well, but he tried to stay cool with the whole thing ensuing; he'd come out in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt of his own, looking a little mussed and partied out, but still in pretty good shape, especially as he poured the coffee. He was damp hair and smelled of the soap he'd used extensively to scrub himself off in the most thorough way -- because even in the throes of morning-after bleariness, he could smell the funk that hung in the air and couldn't actually calculate how the hell it'd gotten there. He'd had to throw open windows fast, just to help clear that miasma.

"Uh, I think I might have just started something," Maria told him, "Because Jules came out and then bolted back for the room."

"It's cool," Mark replied, "she's probably just warning her you-know-who that there's company." Bryce seemed to be an eternal fixture around here, and the decor of the living room reflected it with a couch that wasn't terribly comfortable, chairs that had a whiff of trendy to them and a too-organized kitchen that was actually a bit difficult to cook in without feeling like a slob because you dared put a jar out of place. It was sterile and cold, muted colors and annoyingly prim and proper sensibilities that dictated form over function. Mark's room, of course, was a totally different story; a speaker, an amp, guitars, posters, a mattress on the floor, a milk crate for a bedside table, and a closet full of clothes that had not one suit jacket to the name.

Bryce would have hated the room if he were ever allowed in, but Mark made sure the lock was turned every single time.

In any case, holding a coffee cup that was decidedly blank of all logos and in all white, he leaned over to Maria and said, "So, good morning," and gave her a lingering kiss by way of further greeting, which was to say, he was a gentleman and he'd made sure to brush the unholy things that lived in his mouth the morning after an alcohol and coke fueled party. He'd never really done cocaine before, but they'd figured it out fast enough; the stuff was ground enough so it didn't hurt the nose and it seemed to make everything a lot more fun. Small doses, moderate amounts. 

The sound of the door made them break the kiss off and turn toward the sound; Mark's surprise was mostly in the eyebrows at the sight of Rebecca, who was, face it, one of Julie's most laid back, understanding and fun friends. She was a sight more welcome than Bryce or the Pucker twins, so the smile was genuine, even as Maria made the bee-line for the bathroom -- some people did coffee and then showers, but Mark was a 'shower first' sort of guy.

"Well, if you're thinking 'look what the cat dragged in' I can only say that I've been taking notes on how you do it," he replied cheekily, but beneath the smile, he meant it. It was often the case that he was treated like an unwanted charity case in his own apartment, which he paid half for -- and sweated his balls off to do many days -- by his roommate and friend's dick boyfriend, who wanted Mark to just keep paying the rent but always leave for the convenience of Bryce. But he was trying to keep it a calm sort of thing, where he just pointed out the obvious rather than snap and be pissed. Was cocaine supposed to make a guy zen? That was a strange side effect, to say the least. 

"Hi, Rebecca, so you're playing the homewrecker today? Or are you Julie's backdoor woman, on the side from the main gig with Bryce?" It was said with a wry grin, he was much happier to see her than Bryce, and even though Julie was sulking. She'd have to get over it-- he couldn't imagine a universe where Maria Liao somehow was worse than Bryce Rushton. In any case, his phone went off right with that annoying little buzz, he'd had it in his hand when he wandered out of his room, and he checked the message as a matter of instinct. His phone was not the latest or the greatest, and certainly not Apple, but it did text messaging -- he had a group SMS that included the rest of the band.

[indent][sub]Cave: Yo, they want us at Edge Records at 11:30 for a brunch meeting. Reply back, fuckers, this is important.[/sub][/indent]
Mark was prepared to handle Julie, was alright dealing with Bryce if he were there, and managed to roll with the surprise of Rebecca in the house...but this took him by surprise and the mask totally slipped.