If Heaven's for clean people...

Bored. It's officially one of the most dangerous words to use while describing Cooper. And yet, it comes into use far too often. Like right now. He doesn't have a guitar. He doesn't have his Sharpie and Post-Its. He doesn't have, well, anything. Except for a sofa and a dog. And his feet over the back of said sofa so his head hangs towards the floor and the dog in question can use his stomach for a pillow.

Yes, this set-up pretty much says Coop is bored. Also, he probably hasn't been sleeping. Hence the vacant, I-can't-come-up-with-my-own-distractions-tonight-so-my-mind-is-wandering sort of stare. He'll pretty much welcome any company he can get. As long as it doesn't want him dead.

It may not be the greatest surprise in the world that there is a Cooper seated upon a sofa with a guitar. The instrument in question is an old, rather battered-looking steel-string, obviously much loved and admired more often than played these days. It's been kept carefully tuned, though, and it's being played now, while its owner's usual sleep-deprivation is surfacing more in the form of reverent nostalgia than sheer insanity. Said owner is also looking a bit different, the guitar aside. He's not bothered to cut his hair in some time, so that it's taken on a rather floppy look, dyed entirely black for once to give it a break from the harsher chemical work. He's a bit scruffy, as well, with his complete inability to grow any sort of facial hair resulting in something just the slightest bit more than a permanent five o'clock shadow. And there is a little, fluffy, brown puppy fast asleep at his feet.

This may very well be the calmest that Coop has been in any public space since returning from the dead and company is, as ever, entirely welcome.

Sitting upside down, legs over the back of a sofa and head dangling with his eyes closed, there is a Cooper. His pick is between his teeth instead of in his hand as he plays an odd mish-mash of tunes on an acoustic guitar that appears to be brand new and is obviously rather on the expensive side. He's really not paying attention to anything at the moment, which he figures could lead to a rather poor outcome but he doesn't really care. He's kind of hoping that the world will be nice enough to at least let him keep having a relatively happy birthday as, for once in his life, April 1st hasn't really been all too bad. In fact, it actually been pretty good. Granted, it's sad when a good birthday can be judged by whether or not your own father remembers that you're a year older but hey. Can't win'em all, right? Right. Whatever.

*and behold, there is a Cooper! and behold, he is alive -- he’s flopped on a couch, prodding a slightly bruised jaw and just generally being far more subdued than usual, which is rather evident in the fact that there is really nothing else to say about the situation other than that – anyone who cares is welcome to say hello*

*there is a couch -- yeah, yeah, this is no surprise, there are a lot of couches, but what makes his one special is that there was, about two seconds ago, a squirrel monkey perched on the back of it -- "was" is the operative word here, seeing as there is no longer a squirrel monkey or anything, for that matter, on the couch, instead there is a Cooper sprawled on the ground in front of it with the distinctly ruffled look of someone who just tumbled headfirst to the floor -- funny thing, really, how ickle monkeys and great big humans have two very different centers of balance... I mean, who knew? ...ow*

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There is a Cooper seated on a couch. He's sitting Indian-style, shirt missing and hair still damp from a shower that was taken more in hopes of regaining his focus than in order to actually get himself clean. Of course, it fulfilled the latter purpose more efficiently than the former, which is made somewhat evident by the fact that he is attempting and mostly failing to focus on his guitar. He gets about halfway through a riff that he obviously knows and then he loses it, scowls, tries again. Lather, rinse, repeat. He's definitely getting rather frustrated with it but he's not going to stop until he either gets through the whole damned thing or else gets distracted by something else.

Actually, distraction would be rather nice.