Tandy Bowen doesn't have to pick between (cloakndagger) wrote in repose,
Billy/Tandy: the neighborhood
Tandy had never been overly focused on his surroundings. His room had downsized from the large house on the outskirts of town near the woods at the formative age of seven, when it had become the size of his mom's walk in wardrobe at the original home in a city Tandy didn't really remember. Then, it had become about efficient storage of clothes/toys, and as he got older, the proportional split became obviated by the lack of need for toys. His mom's preoccupation with acquiring numbness meant little investment into making the trailer a quote unquote, home and thus Tandy had little to draw on when he arrived with a rucksack over one shoulder, that equated.
He didn't feel exactly guilty, but perhaps confused that Billy was as committed as he was to interior decoration. Logically, he knew the possession of a home and the stability that meant was likely to provoke Sabrina stamping his personality indelibly on the surrounds, but why that extended all the way to a space designated as Tandy's was not immediately clear. This was Billy's place. And if Billy wanted to paint the allocated room pink, or purple, or something else, he could. He chose blue, in the absence of any real criteria for his space beyond a bed and a wardrobe and a bathroom that functioned. This was a significant step up on the Maslow thing, and Tandy carried all his worldly possessions in one backpack and a laptop case he held clamped to his chest.
Given the laptop and the connection it provided was the main source of Tandy's income, Tandy treated it as though it were a walking bank account: breakable. He knocked on the front-door, which felt moderately weird, and then he used the keys Billy had dropped off, a rattle in the door before he entered. The smell of molten cheese, tomato and meat hung in the air and predictably, Tandy's stomach growled loudly.
"Hey. You ordered pizza, this is an excellent introduction into roommate living."