[Centre][h1][colour=dodgerblue]Andrew 'Drew' Jungerwood[/colour][/h1]

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2:00 AM The day before he needed to arrive in Philly. A motel in Monroeville. Andrew Jungerwood was exhausted from the drive from Colorado to Philadelphia. He had checked in the previous day at 3:00 AM, deciding he could get a couple hours sleep and end up in Philly within the day. It seems he got a bit too much sleep, ordered room service and spent the rest of the day in his room, only realising his mistake half way through a rather pleasent dream.

Sprinting downstairs, quickly handing in his key to the groggy receptionist, Andrew contemplated the long drive ahead. Google maps said it should take four and a half hours. Dammit. Traffic permitting as well. His car was, unfortunately, quite old. He was loaded now, sure, but he never spent the money on a car. Adjusting his car in the rearview mirror, he pulled away from the motel, fearful of the journey that lay ahead. He wasn't scared of the new record deal, or the resulting insomnia. He was scared getting a severe case of road rage that could only be cured via doughnuts. 'Tis torture.
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By the time he reached Endeavor, having spent five hours driving and the rest sleeping in a lay-by, he was as exhausted and irritable as humanly possible. Well, he was, until he ate his way through three doughnuts, though he was still pissed at that one DJ who played some awful Taylor Swift single one thousand times, or maybe more. All he wanted to do was lie down and watch reruns of Twin Peaks all day. Alas, part of him really wanted this deal. Finally a company that didn't want him just because they reckoned they could monetize him. His last deal with his uncle was painful? It started off fine, until dear Uncle Mikey decided that Andrew would be better as a brooding pop singer. No dice.

Pulling up in front of the studio, dark rings forming rapidly under his eyes, Andrew decided to unload his car later. He was also moving into the new apartments, so a brought a lot of luggage. He felt weirdly confident, strutting down the hallway, the heels of his boots making a louder sound than he thought. He turned the corner, following the sound of voices. The mention of food. Honestly, this studio was going to rock. The first thing he heard was about pizza, they had him at pizza.

Slicking back his hair, Andrew cautiously entered the room, blocked by the woman with the pizza. Be waited until she had stopped talking, before adressing the woman in front of him. [colour=dodgerblue]"I daresay you shouldn't block the doorway."[/colour] His voice was strange, oddly low and steady. Almost quite eerie. He reached over her shoulder, opening the box and tearing a piece free. He then sold past her, leaning against the wall, quickly wolfing down the pizza slice.