InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "my little pony tales"

Liam Roberts is an (author) wrote in rooms,
@ 2015-07-27 10:16:00

Entry tags:

!dc comics, *log, liam roberts, trystan chenille

gotham: trystan & liam
Who: Trystan & Liam
What: Roommates
Where: The new place in Gotham
When: Recent!
Warnings/Rating: TBD

[Yeah, the place wasn't much to speak of, but it wasn't a hotel room, and it had that going for it at least. Shabby, one bedroom, stained walls and carpeting, but he wasn't complaining. It was a place to stay, a roof over his head, and he wasn't alone.

Funny how 'not being alone' had come to be one of those things that was important to him. He could remember living on his own, being okay with it, but now the quiet, the solitude, it felt imposing and suffocating, and just knowing that another person was sharing the space with him was enough to put some of the voices in his head at ease.

The corner of the living room (or what constituted a living room in the cramped space) had become his. Notebooks and cheap pens, an ash tray and a crumpled pack of cigarettes. He was slouched against the wall, feet bare and wings concealed beneath a thin t-shirt, a cigarette in hand as he stared down at the notebook balanced on one knee.

Writer's block. A cement wall that he couldn't find a way over.]

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chenille
2015-07-27 03:44 pm UTC (link)

[The whore had been present enough to outline with a duplicitous landlord the confines of a very nebulous, very absent lease. Terms were negotiated, renegotiated in subtext and purrs, a maker's mark duped dumb by promises they'd registered prior to Liam's involvement. 'A guest,' he'd lied away -- though no stricter suppositions came to follow. Upon being given the key(s -- one thrown haphazardly to Liam on his way out), Trystan disappeared -- beckoned by the tin of a ringtone and the promise of poppied veins fast on its feet.

He returned to naught but the corner of the seedy little flat occupied, the other writer cramped miserably in the corner of his own mind, made manifest by the press of wings to a tobacco-stained wall, making himself small as possible.

He'd already hit a vein on the way back -- a corrupt CEO's limo housed coke and a safe conclave in which to hide a needle's prick. &oh, was he flying high -- hazy and happy to be out of a room that doubled as a flat for transaction.

He laughed, eyeing his roommate up&down,updown. Two steps closer and he stood -- willow, winnowweak before him, posture coy and far from demure.]

"You know, giving you a corner of the publicmost room wasn't exactly what I had in mind..."

[Arched eyebrow, pretty cock of the hip&head]

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author
2015-07-27 03:56 pm UTC (link)

[Lost in his own mind was putting it mildly. It was a whirlwind of thoughts, none of them particularly productive, mulling on people, on events, on the good and mostly the bad, but nothing that deserved going down on paper, no matter how many times he pressed the tip of his pen to the white surface. The paper was littered with dots, with the starts of letters, crumpled pages laying on the ground beside him, evidence of fruitless effort.

He didn't look up when the other man entered, flying high and happy, not until he spoke, at least. Only then did blue eyes track upwards, meeting that tipped head and arched brow before he ground out the remains of the cigarette that had burned down to the filter some moments before.]

You want me to go to the bedroom? Just seemed more comfortable out here, but I'll move if you need me. [Willing to please, eager even, the pen tucked back behind one ear for safe keeping.]

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chenille
2015-07-27 04:07 pm UTC (link)

"That's not what I meant,"

[A concession, haughty though it was. Knocked knees clattered in ebony oblivion to the ground before Liam, envy eyes narrowing on the other man on the fallout. He stared curiously -- feline -- quiet as he drew torward, perfume heady and heavy between them, masking that scent of sex and passions spent.]

"You're paying half. And you have more shit than me; so what do you want to do?"

[He could be petty -- could argue that the kitchen was not a shared space and therefore factored into the ultimate delineation of square footage, but he silenced instead, settled into waiting for a response as the lull burned numb in his hollow heart.]

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author
2015-07-27 04:33 pm UTC (link)

[To his credit, Liam didn't draw back when Trystan approached; he had long since gotten over any fear he might have had of the other man. It was a casual comfort on his end, one he didn't press and didn't question. But when the comment came about him paying half, about having more stuff, a brow rose.]

Guess I was just giving you dibs on the bedroom and stuff. You got us the place, not me. I'd still be in that hotel otherwise, so it's okay. This is better than where I was.

[It seemed easy to him, but he wasn't one to argue over this sort of stuff. His needs had become pretty simple as of late, and a place to sleep was near the bottom of that list when it came down to it.]

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chenille
2015-07-27 04:52 pm UTC (link)

"We're not in too separate of circumstance."

[He drew back, just so. A sliver of weight settled back on his heels, and he watched --

merely watched.

Silence pervaded the spaces between, and when he finally spoke, it was laced with a trepidation both uncommon and caustic, self-effacing and rife with hatred of itself. Eyes cast elsewhere, focused on anything but the man before him.]

"We can share it, if you want--"

[A jump to justification, that smoothtalker staccato smoothed pretty in reasoning and a barter burned by displaced intimacies, all fake.]

"Not in the manner of reading into anything,"

[Another pause, pretty and brief]

"Merely, we keep opposite schedules -- in part, at least."

[A spark, a crackle&hiss. Clove cast alight on the perfume's sickly sweet basenote, tinging it spicy.]

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author
2015-07-27 04:59 pm UTC (link)

[Nothing was said for a long moment, but he watched, the way those eyes went elsewhere, anywhere but on him. It gave him reason to think, to ponder the words that were offered next.

Sharing.

Opposite schedules.

It was his turn to cock his head to the side, a brow raised in question even as the air turned sweet and spicy with the light of the cloves.]

Only if you don't mind. [Because, to Liam, this was still more Trystan's place than his own, even if he was paying half, even if they were sharing. He wasn't a freeloader, so he wasn't ashamed of considering the offer, but he was all too willing to back off, to hide in a corner, in the handful of square feet he had claimed for himself.]

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chenille
2015-08-02 03:46 pm UTC (link)

"I don't, I really couldn't care less."

[Dignities regained by abrasive apathy, but just so. Weight settled into a shoulder, angular&sharp, and he sucked deep on a candied filter, eyes settling hazy on the penpress that littered the page before the seraph with dots and delineations. Justification trailed absently into inquiry, marked by a giggle both boyish and foreign --

a little more earnest, a little less that feline harlot snatching the night.]

"I really don't care what you do with this place; how it looks, where everything is, so long as I have a bed..."

[A lilt alight that laughter, hazy and airy.]

"what the fuck are you at? Trying to realign the cosmos, Ptolemy?"

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author
2015-08-03 06:48 pm UTC (link)

[That not caring seemed weird, strange, but everything about life had turned some shade of weird and strange in the last months, to the point where he didn't really question it or pay it more attention than a passing glance. A pen was picked up, spun between his fingers, nervous habit given life before he gave a shrug of an angular shoulder.]

No. Just. Trying to be considerate. Is it that strange?

[A fresh sheet of paper, white, glaringly so, full of possibilities that he couldn't seem to touch easily. It lay there, unblemished, the pen still capped, the writer still blocked.]

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chenille
2015-08-03 07:57 pm UTC (link)

"Uncommon,"

[Conceded. Given life by way of fingers fell to that new page. His eyes remained -- downcast, supplication -- entranced by the new white that replaced regret, repression--

whatever the hell it was Liam was toiling through.]

"Perhaps not strange."

[The turn of phrase was odd, parsed clipped by a high and a wandering mind. His fingers trailed to the paper, caressing its edges with the same lackadaisical lull as his voice, his absent wandering thoughts.]

"Put out the torches; hide the moon, hide the stars."

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