i can almost see it, that dream i'm dreaming

With eight hours to go until her flight, Miley was kind of in a mad rush to get everything packed in time. Because everything meant everything, and for some ridiculous reason, when she'd shown up on this island last July she'd sort of brought a ton of stuff.

Not all of it was going with her, probably -- there were some outfits she had no idea why she'd ever bought and had no intention of bringing back home with her -- but a lot of it was, and most of it wasn't going to fit in her sparkly pink luggage. Which meant that there were moving boxes everywhere, and Miley was frantically attacking them with moving tape in the hopes that they would just close already.

Plus her phone was ringing off the hook with calls from Vida and Lilly and Jackson and her father, all wondering when she was supposed to get in, not to mention agents of various talk show hosts who wanted to schedule appearances with her, and of course Steven Spielberg, who wanted to know when she was getting to the set next week, and and and--

So yeah, Miley was a wee bit stressed right now. She was flying around the room, jamming things into boxes with her phone tucked between her ear and her shoulder, explaining, "Yes, Vida, I know about the signing in Paris, I remember and I'm totally gonna be there on Satur-- no, yeah, I meant Thursday, that's totally what I meant, I'll be there Thursday, no okay I gotta go bye!"

[[open/open, last post!]]

After getting back from her sixth portal connection (through the Oregon Trail, and sweet niblets was she never doing that again), Miley was, well... Miley was stomping around the room and dumping her stuff everywhere.

And... sort of muttering to herself.

"Can't go to college," she grumbled. "Just because I was selling out stadiums and meeting the Queen of England instead of holding a spit bucket for the girls' wrestling team! Stupid Standford."

And with that, she flopped onto the bed to mope.

She was just a bundle of sunshine today, wasn't she? Visit with peril.

[[door and post open, yes! though any references to hannah montana are nfb and juliet's thread will be chronlogically last, plz.]]

It had been awhile since Miley had considered herself of an appropriate age to jump on a bed.

And yet. Today she was jumping on the bed. And singing into a hairbrush microphone.

"I know today is taking me
Where I'm meant to be
Doesn't matter where I go
With my bowling shoes
And my rock star phone
I'm waiting for a friend to call
Or the rain to fall
Life goes by
Who knows why?"

So it was going to be a Hilary Duff night, apparently.

[[Open! Any mentions of Hannah Montana in the boyfriend thread go NFB, plz.]]

Lilly still hadn't replied to Miley's texts from a whole day ago, and by now Miley was Really Really Worried.

Worried enough to call Lilly's mom. No answer. Then her dad. Still nothing. Even her brother Haley Joel wasn't picking up.

So, frustrated and starting to wonder if Lilly was maybe on the run from the law or something, Miley called her own father.

"Hey, bud, what's up?"

( Oh, thank God. )

[[door and post open]]

Miley hadn't had any classes today, and Lilly was at school (dang time difference between Fandom and home!) and therefore untextable, so today had been something of an introspective day. She'd watched some of her old music videos on her iPod and gone through old AIM chat logs that she'd saved of her and Lilly and Oliver goofing off together, back in eighth and ninth grade. Everything had been so easy then. 

And now she was going through a scrapbook. Mamaw had made it for her -- actually, it was one of the few real-grandmotherly things Mamaw ever did, scrapbooking. It was filled with clippings and cutouts of Hannah Montana in magazines and newspapers, photos, old concert tickets. Most of it made her smile, but a few things (like the snapshots of performing for the queen, and Lilly's sixteenth birthday, god what a train wreck) just made her feel a little sad. 

This week? Hadn't been the greatest.

[[Door closed, post is for the Fandom BFF, and it's NFB for secretage.]]

"Here, you can have this pair too," Miley said generously, holding out a pair of shoes to her best friend. "They're Italian, even. Just 'cause I miiiiss you."

Lilly smiled shakily, but Miley could see her swallow nervously and that tipped her off to the fact that there was something going on with her friend. "Hey," she said, flopping down on the bed to cross her legs and look at her best friend. "What's wrong?" 

Lilly bit her lip and started pacing, then held herself still. "I... sorta messed up yesterday," she said hesitantly. "And you're not gonna like it."

"What is it?" Miley asked, wide-eyed and earnest as she patted the bed beside her. "Lilly, I'm your best friend. You can tell me anything."

Finally Lilly took a deep breath, and sat down on the bed beside her. She couldn't remember anything ever being this hard to say. "I sort of... might have... accidentally told your secret," she admitted.

[[For the best friend, and NFB.]]

A very loud, empassioned argument was being had in room 311 as frantic music played. And this argument, naturally, involved a wig being tossed on and off between speakers.

"I can't believe you want to take this away from me!" Hannah-Miley accused. In addition to having blonder hair, she was better-dressed than Miley, despite switching on a split-second's notice.

"I don't!" Miley-Miley shot back, taking the wig off and frowning determinedly. "All I said was that my life would be easier if I didn't have you to worry about!"

Hannah-Miley threw the wig back on, shimmering in a radiant ballgown that had suddenly appeared. "So you want to tell the world, is that it? Get yourself checked into a facility? Your every move scrutinized by doctors and nurses?"

Miley-Miley began to cry. One tear at a time, of course. "All I want is to be free," she whispered. She was in So Much Pain!

Now Hannah-Miley decided enough was enough. "Fine," she hissed. "Then until you can come to your senses, I'm in control." She put the wig on with a smug smile. "Later, Miley."

And with that, she took Miley's collage of photos off of the wall and began to cut them up, all the while playing her last few hits at maximum volume on her iPod speakers. While Miley wailed inside, of course.

[[I'm... I'm really not sure. Open.]]

Fresh from her second handwavy day spent exploring Disney, Miley collapsed in her room and flopped down on her bed around ten, laden with shopping bags and sporting a brand-new tan. Amusement parks always wore her out -- though this was the first time in a long time that she'd been to one without Lilly and Oliver.

That was... not a fun thought.

Okay, no, she wasn't going to think about that. She had just come from the happiest place on earth, in the best city on earth. Her window was open and she could make out a few vaguely French-looking buildings in the distance, which served to brighten her mood a bit. But the only thing that could really cheer her up was just off to the side of the bed.

She reached down and grabbed her acoustic guitar from its stand behind her headboard. It was the only one she'd brought to Fandom -- the flashier ones were too much of a giveaway, even hidden in the closet. Anyway, quiet songwriting helped her think. With her tab book open in front of her and a purple gel pen tossed casually on top of it, she started strumming softly and composing a song. She kept interrupting herself to cross out and rewrite the lyrics, but her attempts came out clear and pure, even if they were occasionally punctuated by mutters of "Dangflabbit!" and "Sweet niblets!"

Enjoy the free concert, third floor. And the... Disneyfied profanity.

[[Door is cracked because Miley is LE DUMB, post is open.]]

Miley? Remained oblivious to what was going on around the island, because she had yet to figure out the radio thing. Which was why she had no problem leaving the door to her empty room very slightly ajar when she went to take a shower.

And in that room, there was a closet. And in the closet, in a large garment bag with a lock on the zipper, were some clothes that were decidedly... glitterier than her usual ensembles. And in the very back of the closet, in a locked box, were a platinum-blonde wig on a mannequin head and a little pink comb.

Oh, Miley, Miley, Miley. Should've put a fingerprint scanner on that stuff.

[[Open for one and NFB!]]