Morningstar Manor

Eamon wasn't getting out of bed. Not for nobody, no-how. He wasn't getting up for the phone, the doorbell, not a damned thing. He was staying under the blankets and nothing was going to convince him he should rouse himself, on this, his day off....

The lobby was totally deserted when Bridget came down on Monday night. It made her feel uneasy, but she wasn't going to let that keep her from getting the help she sought. She walked up to the empty security desk and hit the little desk bell on top of it. Hard. A number of times.

It was the third day of lockdown and Pandigaeshiks were still dangerously low on diapers. She'd tried to see if she could borrow any from her neighbors, but had so far come up with nothing. So she'd gone to the security desk. If the Manor staff was going to keep them cooped up in the building, they had better provide for the tenants' needs while they were inside.

A latte, a multiple espresso and a large glass of water; a plate of assorted muffins, a stack of assorted newspapers, and two brothers with the same dark curly hair and dark blue eyes arguing, in a comfortable booth near the entrance to the Mocha.

"... totally bad taste!" Lajos was declaring. "And nothing else. Sorry. I can't laugh at that."

"If she can't stand the heat, she should get out of the fucking kitchen!" Andras grumbled, looking at the newspaper.

"Kitchen heat isn't the same as 'zippoes strategically applied to your genitals'," Lajos argued. "Nobody would do that to a male politician!"

"Remember that photoshopped pic of Dubya taking it from behind?" Andras shot back. "And these are just strippers -- positively traditional! Okay, the Larry Flynt thing is a bit edgier -- but really, if she can't stand the fucking heat..."

"It is not a political argument," Lajos maintained, shaking his head and sipping his water.

"No, but it shows how popular she is," Andras said. "Do you think Fox News will give her a talk show in the new year?"

Lajos finally chuckled at that. "Optimist!" he said. "Well, let's say, she's easier to understand than the subprime mortgage crisis, the subprime credit crisis, and the accumulation of toxic assets -- and, I think, infinitely less important in the long run."

Andras put down the newpaper and took up another one.


[[OOC: Thanks to Sal for the link -- I felt I totally had to do something with it!]]

Eamon hunched over the table, going over a list of bills and ticking them off in his battered checkbook. Yeah, he knew he should do all that on the computer, but out in the field he hardly ever had 'net that worked. This was easier.

"Fuck," he said and pushed it away with a scowl. "This isn't balancing."

Erin was down in the laundry room again, doing the sorting dance. It basically consisted of dumping everything into a huge pile and tossing things into one machine or the other. Some things found their way back in the basket though. Stuff that wasn't meant for machines to wash.

Her feet were tired and she was seriously contemplating laying over the machines to take a nap. The spin cycle would likely wake her up. Or maybe somebody would start to wonder where she was. She laughed out loud. "Yeah right, there's a story and a half." She said, her hands pushing down the laundry mountain in the designated "coloreds" washer.

They had made an effort. You could at least say that.

Motels in the middle of nowhere often made some sort of effort; this had gone for the igloo look, which was odd, consiering it was in one of the hottest parts of the country. But the walls were white, with ice blocks sketched on in blue; there were fluffy rugs trying to look like furs, and a jingly curtain made of plastic snowflakes.

A cut-out photograph of a penguin was watching the bed in an inappropriate manner.

On the bed was Andras, reading a book, and waiting...

The Lamb always has a rather Irish feel about it but tonight everything about it is green. Not the beer, though - that would be sacrilege.

There are traditonal dishes on the menu - irish stew and colcannon amongst them - traditional drinks and also traditional music both live and piped.

Drink at the bar, eat at the tables, and there is a dance floor for anyone gutsy enough to brave the speed of the fiddler.

"Bored," Eamon said into the phone without preamble when Andras picked up. "Bored, bored, booorrrred. Dude."

Geekboys weren't the only ones moving in today; but this new tenant has a few more belongings than would fit into a couple of suitcases and a few boxes.

Devon's been supervising the move all afternoon, and he's exhausted. He's got his new entertainment system set up, his home office, and his bedroom - everything else can wait. Right now, he's out of coffee - the horror!

So, he's taken a walk down to the Mocha, and because he's never really not working, he has business cards and a digital camera tucked into the pocket of his hoodie.

"Dude. This is the life." Eamon sighed, relaxing back into the chair, letting his face tip up to the sunshine. "Niiiiiice."

Nick had got off duty at seven that morning, had changed from his uniform to travelling clothes - he still had no idea where they were going so hedged his bets with walking boots, chinos and tee with a leather jacket to keep the wind out - and was in the lobby yawning by twenty past and giving Charlie a grin as the Mouse humped his bags across to the door.

"Where's the other's?" Nick asked.( Read more... )

Andras was lounging in the travel section, tall and gangly, leaning against a pillar browsing through guidebooks to all sorts of locations, waiting for Eamon to finish with whatever old lady he was selling romance novels to, and noticing him.