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Oliver. King. (cyprian) wrote in bellumlogs,

Lobby.
Trenton's senses returned to him in a slow phase. First, there was the echo of distant, blaring car horns that were embedded in traffic. The sound rattled around unpleasantly in his skull, and pierced the vague dream he'd been in the midst of. He swallowed, finding his tongue dry and stale with a bitter taste that he did not recognize. Unfortunately for Trenton, who probably woke up to the taste of grain alcohol and hooker spit on a regular occasion, this wasn't too uncommon.

"Ugghff," he fought off consciousness with a growl and a grimace, turning into the soft, yielding pillow at his side. He tried to slip back into the blissful dream, but very quickly was forced to accept the fact that his pillow was breathing. Frowning, Trenton wrenched open one eye and looked around. It was difficult to see anything, as a bedsheet -- one he recognized as coming from his own room -- was tented above his head. He cautiously pulled the sheet loose from the chaise couch it had been tacked to, and he squinted against the fresh light.

"Fuck.." This was not his penthouse. This was not any apartment at all. He sat up slowly, surveying the ceiling and curling staircase on the opposite side of the large room. He was in the lobby, and judging by the couple of chairs and couches that were positioned around him, he'd constructed some kind of furniture & bedsheet fort in the night. It was a nice fort, he was a little saddened by the realization that he did not remember building it. Glancing to his side, he saw Isobel -- his pillow -- still dozing soundlessly. She stirred with a dreamy whimper before burying her face against her arm.

And why was he covered in dirt? Trenton's frown of confusion quickly escalated into something akin to disgust when he glanced down at himself. He wore boxers of a deep gray silk and nothing else but a thin veil of potting soil. Spotting the source of the dirt, Trenton realized he'd knocked over a couple of those cute little ficus trees that were positioned around the lobby, and had apparently found it comfortable to sleep in the grungy remains.

"Isobel, wake up," he nudged her and dusted himself off with a hiss of hungover impatience.