Luke Lawliet (thousandcases) wrote in colligo_threads, @ 2009-06-16 15:22:00 |
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Current music: | My Chemical Romance- "You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us In Prison" |
Entry tags: | !closed |
They All Cheat At Cards And The Checkers Are Lost
Who: L and Edward "The Comedian" Blake
What: First-time meeting in the apartment they apparently share.
When: Around 10:00 at night.
Where: The Apartment Complex
Warnings: Probably; we'll see. XD
L was skinny as a rail, but, nevertheless, terribly out-of-shape. Climbing three flights of stairs in the apartment left him winded and with very sore legs, and more than a little spiteful towards whoever had put him in this situation. He'd already considered kidnappers, but wasn't the entire point of being kidnapped that you were held for ransom? He didn't think that being given free reign of a Boston-esque city quite fit that scenario. Even if he couldn't leave, it seemed like a lot of space for being held captive. He had been to the bank earlier, gotten his $100 and a set of keys to his apartment, and then returned here, all without being harassed.
He found room 305 fairly easily, but was immediately troubled when he noticed that, in gold on the door right below the name "Edward Blake", his own name was printed.
A half hour later, he returned with a stolen bottle of black spray paint and fixed that. The letters weren't raised, and even if he squinted, he couldn't make out the letters of his name anymore. Satisfied, he unlocked the door of the apartment and let himself in. He stepped into the living room first, which smelled overwhelmingly of smoke. Stifling a cough, the pale young man began to examine his surroundings, and, automatically, to straighten them in an almost panicked way. While he was collecting the randomly strewn magazines and arranging them on the coffee table, he noticed that they had names like "Jugs," "Penthouse," "Playboy," and "Butts on Sluts." None of them seemed to feature underage individuals, or any other illegal activity... but L still disapproved. Into the wastepaper basket went the magazines. Noticing a gray smudge on his long-fingered hand, L took the several very full ashtrays and tossed them off the balcony into the bushes below. He didn't care if Adrian Veidt seemed to feel it was unwise to upset Edward Blake; he was going to have a clean apartment that didn't reek of cigars. He made a cup of coffee, already feeling better when the familiar, comforting scent started to blend and fade the stench that smoking left.
Flicking on the television in the hopes of finding out something about his location, on the news or something similar, L was greeted with the sight of a gaggle of silently screaming women joyfully flashing him. Blinking, he changed the channel and set it to closed captioning, watching intently with his note cards and pen held at the ready. He planned to record anything relevant, of course.