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Cordelia Chase takes crap from no one. (thisismyofframp) wrote in colligo_threads,
@ 2012-01-15 20:05:00

Entry tags:

cordelia chase, owen harper

WHO: Cordelia Chase and Owen Harper
WHAT: These two are roommates. Be afraid. Be very afraid.
WHEN: Sunday late morning.
WHERE: Apartment 110A.
RATING: TBD
STATUS: In Progress

Having spent the better part of the night before - also known as her birthday - in a drunken stupor thanks to the liquor that Spike had given her, Cordelia had not risen bright and early as she typically did. In fact, it was closer to eleven than ten in the morning when she finally rolled over and peered out blearily at her alarm clock beside her bed. Snuggling down deeper under her covers, she probably would have slept until eleven had passed by entirely and noon was close to doing the same if not for one thing that finally registered in her sluggish, hungover mind.

She was in her bed.

Sitting up straight, an action she regretted a split second later when the world tilted violently at the sudden motion, she slowly drank in the welcomed sight of her bedroom. Despite feeling as though her brain was currently doing a protest march against her temples, Cordelia smiled. "Finally," she exclaimed. Almost giddily, she quickly grabbed a bottle of pain killers that she kept beside her bed, mostly in case her visions ever turned into giant balls of agonizing slow death again but also handy for when she'd hit the bottle a little too hard the night before. After swallowing a couple of the pills, she tossed the blanket aside and padded out of her room with every intention of making a beeline for the coffee pot in order to continue her hangover cure ritual.

It wasn't until she had actually reached the kitchen that she realized another very important fact. Yes, she was back in her own apartment... but she wasn't alone. In fact, there was someone sitting at her counter, looking for all the world as though they belonged there. Someone masculine, or at least pretty butch if the haircut was anything to go by. Someone that definitely was not Daryl, or Constantine, or Spike, or any other guy she recognized who might, for some reason, be there.

"Uh, excuse me," she heard herself saying before she'd even really given any thought to what she was doing. "But what in the hell do you think you're doing?"

Smart, Cordy. Real smart, she thought to herself as soon as the words had left her mouth. Nothing like pissing off a potential robber while unarmed and in your pajamas, no less. If you get yourself killed before you've even brushed your hair, you are never living this down. Of course, the thought was all well and good, but she wasn't paying that much attention to her common sense at the moment. She was too busy standing in the doorway, hands on her hips and a ticked off expression on her face, waiting for Mr. Made-Himself-At-Home to answer her.

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imatwat
2012-01-16 01:56 am UTC (link)

Having been in a flat with a babbling yet somehow frightfully coherent girl for weeks, Owen had been rather surprised when he'd woken up that morning in a bed that wasn't the one that he'd been sharing with River. Instead, he was in another flat entirely, the stuff that he had acquired since being there littering the exact same places that he'd left it in the other flat, but he had still found himself delightfully alone. At least, that was what he'd thought when he'd gotten up, ignoring the fact that he was still in the same clothes that he'd worn all day yesterday in favor of a bowl of cereal with epic amounts of sugar. God, he missed eating.

His illusion of solitude was shattered before his cereal had even gone soggy, though, as a woman who looked about his age or perhaps a bit younger announced her presence by making it rather clear she didn't think he was supposed to be here.

"Having breakfast," Owen answered without missing a beat, picking up the box that was still sitting on the counter next to him. "There's plenty left if you want some. And I think the eggs are still good. Bacon's gone fuzzy, though." Yes, he'd known what she was asking, but hell, why should he have to answer such a pointblank question when he was obviously supposed to be here? Really, who the hell did she think she was? Well, other than the person who thought she rightfully owned this flat. "You look like shite."

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thisismyofframp
2012-01-16 02:13 am UTC (link)

Whatever answer Cordelia had expected to be given, that was certainly not it. Obviously he was eating. She wasn't blind or an idiot. However, why he was eating cereal at her kitchen counter, was the important question. And did he seriously just comment on how she looked? Seriously?

"Nobody asked you what I looked like, Mr. Receding Hairline," she retorted instantly, making a beeline for the coffee pot. Caffeine first, she decided. Deal with creepy potential burglar who was doing it wrong later. Because clearly, if he wasn't a burglar, something else was going on and she desperately needed coffee to figure it out.

Or maybe not. Because literally, not three seconds later, something else occurred to her and she gave an audible groan. "Wait," she said, more to stop her own racing thoughts than anything else. "I think I know what's going on." Pulling out her PDA, she flipped through her messages before groaning softly. "Sometimes, I really hate being right," she muttered before moving to the counter and showing him the latest message she'd received, clearly stating that she now had a roommate by the name of Owen Harper. "Unless you aren't the guy mentioned here, of course. In which case, I'd start running if I were you."

It was only then that she caught sight of his cereal and, instantly, any and all complaints of having to share a flat with him seemed to evaporate as something far more pressing jumped to the forefront of her thoughts. "And how much sugar did you put on that?!" she exclaimed, torn between horrified and shocked. "I can see the crystals from here!"