InsaneJournal

i've seen better days..
Who: Luc and Samuel.
What: Movings-in and first encounters.
Where: Outside of Pax Letale, in the front lobby and apartment D1.
When: Saturday, July 23, 2011. Around 9 a.m.
Warnings: None yet. Aside from Luc's apparent packing retardation and subsequent foul language.
Notes: Lol. What.

Luc had always been a morning person. It couldn't really be helped; it was just how he was raised. Plus, he always felt like a piece of shit when he slept half his day away and nothing got done. Master of the To-Do List, that was Luc Haust. And this was today's:

1.) Shower, shave, get your ass dressed. Done.
2.) Breakfast, coffee. Done.
3.) Move stuff into apartment, start unpacking.
4.) Finish new song?
5.) Plan moving-in party.
6.) Call Harvey, check schedule.

The last one was his agent-slash-personal assistant, and he always went to the bottom of the list because, almost always, Harvey would call first. In fact, the only time Harvey didn't call Luc before 5 p.m. (which was Luc's deadline for his day almost always) was when the younger man had been in a car accident and was hospitalized. He called at six that day.

But, considering it was nine in the a.m., Luc didn't think he was doing too shabby. He had a whole day to get this moving-in shit done, and, for the most part, that was all just delegating - because one of the many benefits of having more money than one knew how to spend was being able to pay other people to do things like manual labor. His father really would be proud.

Hey, just because he was 6'5", pushing 230 healthy pounds, and a specimen of perfect health - and therefore completely capable of doing his own heavy lifting - did not mean he enjoyed it. Or that he had to do it. Besides, movers had kids to feed - he was doing them a solid by being.. well, kind of a prince(ss) about it.

He dug his BlackBerry out of the center console of his navy blue '10 BMW 7-Series (his father had instilled in him a love for German automobiles) so he could dial the moving company - and he was such a badass with that phone, he didn't even have to look at the keys anymore. Better, because the traffic on the PCH was hell right then, and he'd only driven to Starbucks. The secretary that answered was pleased as punch to inform him that the movers had been dispatched and were right on schedule - had they not arrived yet? Well, perhaps they had, but Luc was still a block away, creeping his way towards Pax Letale. And, yes, now that he could see the big rig, they had, thank you, and you be sure to have a fantastic day now. There was never a reason to be impolite to strangers, in his opinion.

All of Luc's important and very personal belongings were in the sizeable trunk that the Bimmer sported - things like his portable keyboard, song notebooks and personal journals, iMac (and though he hated Macintrash with all his heart, GarageBand was something he could never live without - damn you, Apple), his laptop, pictures of Nate and his parents, a few potted plants, and various other things he didn't trust the movers to handle properly. It only took about ten more minutes to make that block, but Luc would swear it was ten years - at least that was what it felt like sitting in Orange County traffic. God, he hated other drivers.

He pulled up and parked his car (probably illegally) as close to the front of the building as the moving rig would allow - which wasn't very close, but it wasn't the end of the world. It gave Luc some satisfaction just to be within the proximity of all his belongings that he'd left in storage since Nate died - after all, his life couldn't fit in the hotel suite that he'd occupied for the last six months. He greeted the movers with a smile and a lawyer's handshake (it's all in the handshake, his father used to say), instructing them to the apartment and handing over the key to the residence so they could let themselves in and he could return to his vehicle to start unloading that. Luckily for the movers, he'd already had new furniture purchased and delivered - so there wasn't too much heavy lifting as far as that went. It was mostly just crap, but hey, it was his crap, thanks very much.

He popped the trunk with the remote as he ambled back towards the car - and now that he noticed it was just barely illegally parked, he had the foresight to at least turn on his hazards so it wouldn't get towed. Besides, it wouldn't be there long.

He started with the box of pictures first - probably not the smartest of choices, considering it was the end of July in SoCal and he had plants in the back, but Luc was, if nothing else, a true space cadet when it counted sometimes. And he would have let himself down if he'd thought logically about something like moving in. He hoisted the box out of the trunk, and apparently had more faith in the box than he should have - because he held it by the sides, and even for Luc, that was a dumb move. True blonde to the core, this man was. He didn't make it fifteen feet away from the car before the bottom of the cardboard container gave out under the weight, sending all of the pictures to the pavement with a heartrending shatter.

"Fuck me," he cursed, maybe a little too loud, but by then he didn't care. "Fuck, fuck, fuck - " He growled a little as he knelt down - forsaking the box (it had betrayed him anyway) - to pick through the pieces of broken glass, metal, and wood to salvage the pictures. Not all of them were broken, and, thank God, none of the pictures were ruined beyond recognition. The frames were replaceable; it wasn't in Luc's nature to whine and cry about broken objects when he could just buy new ones. But these memories? Were the last things he had left of the three people he'd loved and respected the most. It would have been armageddon if the pictures themselves had been damaged.

But, per usual, it was really his own fault. And as he picked up one of his favorite pictures of himself and Nate on their only vacation together to Tijuana (the only vacation that Nate had been healthy enough to take), he knew Nate would have told him so.