Roland had been slowly getting used to being the only person living in the giant mansion full of tech he couldn't even begin to figure out. He'd barely worked out how to operate the youtubes or whatever they were called.

When the coffee machine broke, he figured he could handle that -- there was a shop in town and really, how much coffee did he need to drink? It wasn't healthy, that much caffeine, you know. The oven had stopped working properly at some point, but it wasn't like he cooked much. He was a simple man. All he really needed was a roof over his head, some space to practice his instruments, and somewhere nice he could lay his head.

"YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"

And hot water. Hot water was good, too.

Roland was not the homeowner sort. He could try recruiting a roommate who would be, but for all he knew there was still some kind of Galaxy Quest security system that would vaporize anyone he tried to let in.

And honestly, that was all a lot of work.

The harp fussed at him a little when he finished packing up -- he was a simple man, everything that wasn't an instrument fit into one duffel bag -- but he shushed her. Unless she happened to know how to fix a water heater, it was time to move on.

[ooc: establishing. Been meaning to get around to this. . . .]

Or: "You know what? I think I'm gonna spend an hour looking at gifs"

( I say you're a Bard, you're a Bard. I say you're a wienie, you're a wienie. And I strongly suspect you're a weenie. )

( Have you ever looked at a tiger and thought you ought to cover it up? )

( Pinkie Pie, you are SO RANDOM. )

( You know, Priestly. Piper thinks Elvis is dead. )

( You see, the dog? The dog's like the pope. )

"Er, hello, you've reached Roland's voicemail. Because apparently answering machines weren't fancy enough. Leave a message, and assuming I can work out how to get it, I'll get back to you. Somehow.

"There aren't enough buttons on this thing. There aren't any buttons on this thi --"

*beep*