Z. Luc Haust // Apollōn (radiantdelphi) wrote in paxletalelogs, @ 2011-07-24 02:11:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | aphrodite, apollo |
it's in the water, it's where you came from..
Who: Luc and Lia.
What: Neighborly introductions.
Where: Pax Letale, apartment D1.
When: Saturday, July 23, 2011. Around 8 p.m.
Warnings: None so far? Aside from (probably) some language and general over-attractiveness of these two particular people, but wtfe. IF THAT'S A CRIME, THEY'RE GUILTY.
Notes: OHHAY ICON. LOL WHAT.
You know, for someone who paid good money for everyone to do all the heavy lifting and general legwork, Luc was awfully tired. Though it was probably him just watching the movers load his seemingly-endless collection of shit that made him so exhausted, truthfully. Or maybe it was just getting the piano moved up there that was the hardest part - because that was painful to watch. Seriously.
He had altered his TDL (to-do list, for anyone not hip to his lingo) since he hadn't gotten to his song to get it finished - not that it was one he was particularly enthusiastic about; just another piece of pop trash he was going to try and pander to Britney Spears next week, and if that bitch was crazy enough to shave her head.. really, he could have reworked "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" and if he put enough bass behind it and wrote some mindless lyrics driveling about parties and boys, she probably wouldn't notice.
It almost made him want to, just for the hell of it. Except he was way too professional. 'Ms. Spears' would just have to wait until tomorrow for her 'next big hit.' Pfft.
There he went, biting at the hand that fed - and Nate would not have approved. He was still rather salty about breaking all of those frames, now that he thought about Nate's disapproval - mostly because it impeded the ritual of finding places to put all the pictures. Yet something else that would have to wait until tomorrow, and that just didn't suit him. A procrastinator he certainly wasn't - though, as he glanced at his watch, it wasn't too late to go to the nearest store (praying he found it before they closed) and pick up new ones.
One thing that could wait was the moving-in party planning he was working on, which mostly just consisted of a separate TDL, and he was pretty much a professional at making those. Hell, he practically made them in his sleep.
So it was with new resolve that he took a quick shower, just to clean up some of the unpacking dust off him; a lot of those boxes had been in storage for the better part of half a year, and some of them longer. Luc just had a thing about going out in public looking a hot mess - and hot was the operative word, because he'd been sweating his ass off all day going back and forth outside.
It only took him about five minutes (he didn't bother with washing his hair, since it was supposed to be just a quick errand), and he threw on a black, fitted t-shirt emblazoned with Elvis (back when he was young and still hot) he'd gotten back in Vegas paired with a set of jeans that had more holes in them than could possibly be considered decent - especially with how some of the ones over the back pockets showed off the material of his red boxer-briefs. Not that Luc gave a crap about that; it was really just a matter of asking people who commented on it why they were looking at his ass to begin with. And, for others, it was simply an excuse to do just that. He was fine with the latter, to be honest.
He slipped on a pair of khaki flip-flops - and if he'd been worried about how he looked at that moment, he would have hung himself for putting them on, but now it was a matter of convenience - and began the Epic Quest for His Keys. Which was no easy task, considering the majority of his apartment was littered with half-opened boxes - and God knows what he'd done with them. And the longer he rooted around for them (and the more he muttered curses under his breath), the more he was considering sending a letter to BMW suggesting a call button that could be mounted in your house and pushed to make your keys beep so you knew where they are. And then he pondered patenting it before he told them about it.
Too bad this nugget of marketing genius hadn't come about before he'd bought the goddamn car.
He probably didn't realize how loud he was being as he moved boxes around, or maybe it was just that he didn't care. It was just that the more he dug around for them, the more time that passed, the more pissed he was getting. And the more pissed he got, the more things just happened to bang around. It had never been easy for him, being blonde and all - and he would always be a true blonde until the day he died.
The most fucked-up, random thought happened after that: had Nate been there, he would have known where the keys were. And then, after he'd found them and handed them over, he would have made fun of him for being.. well, Luc. It made his heart twist in his chest that he still had those thoughts only 99% of the time - and 100% of those were when he didn't need them. Like right then.
And it still didn't help him find his goddamn keys.