Billy has been stuck in (contiguity) wrote in repose, @ 2019-06-18 18:11:00 |
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Entry tags: | *log, billy kaufman, tandy bowen |
Log: The neighbourhood
Who: Billy & Tandy
What: The smol witch and the tol alien cohabitate, shenanigans ensue
Where: The Neighbourhood
Warnings/Rating: Language, sass, emotional nuance Tandy doesn’t grasp
Billy was a genius. No, really. He was an artist. He was Michaelangelo - Leonardo? Whichever one of the Ninja Turtles had been the most revered Renaissance artist in general opinion, whatever. Who else could have taken such a bland, milquetoast canvas and turned it into magical mastery? Besides like, an actual interior designer, but again - whatever. Logic was not about to rob him of his self-satisfaction in this moment of triumph. He leaned back in the doorframe of Tandy’s bedroom and surveyed his work with his hands on his hips, careful not to brush up against the paint where it was still wet on the nearest wall. When he’d asked (read: interrogated) Tandy about what he wanted done with his bedroom, he’d had to fight for more than a one-word descriptor: ‘plain’. Seriously. It’d been a serious struggle not to spam the guy with the unamused emoji, but Billy had been afraid that it would have spun them out on a tangent about nonverbal communication and the importance of clarity in shared living arrangements, and then he’d never be able to get the room ready in time. So he’d persevered (his sainthood was in the mail, he was sure) and managed to pry an actual colour out of Tandy so that he could pick up some paint. ‘Blue’. But any adjectives beyond that were a lost cause. Robin’s egg? Cerulean? Azure? He got stonewalled on all fronts. So eventually he’d taken a Pantone quiz while mentally roleplaying as a stoic giant and settled on 5000 Violet Blue, which he thought was pretty perfect. Cool-toned, not too dark, complemented the white of the cupboards and the light fixtures he’d picked out from Ikea. And if Tandy hated it, then Tandy could repaint the damn thing. Okay, realistically Billy would repaint it for him because he’d figured out a way to get it done with magic, but it would be under distinct protest and no way was he going to be okay with making it all-white again. So the walls were done, and he’d put in a bed that would have swallowed him, Billy, whole if he tried to sleep in it but would hopefully be suitable for Jolly Green. There was a chance he’d gone slightly overboard with eight pillows. He’d left the walls bare because Tandy had insisted he wasn’t an “art-on-the-walls kind of person”, whatever that meant. There were some floating shelves that looked sort of depressing with nothing on them so Billy had moved one of his succulents there temporarily, and then the succulent looked lonely so he’d moved a couple more of his smaller plants in as well - a snake plant on the top shelf, a little jade plant beside the bed, a taller one by the French doors that opened up onto the world’s tiniest terrace. Satisfied now that the room looked a little less spartan, Billy headed downstairs to wait for Tandy’s arrival and cram some more pizza in his mouth - he’d ordered two larges, and had already put away half of one by himself, but he started on another slice while leaning his back against the kitchen island. The front door and back doors were propped open with boxes while the paint dried in the bedrooms, so a cool breeze flowed throughout and ruffled his hair and the baggy hem of his surprisingly subdued t-shirt. Music played softly through the speakers mounted on the walls on the first floor. He looked around the kitchen as he chewed a mouthful of meat-lover’s supreme, and tried to reconcile himself with the idea of living in an actual home once more. |