Owen Murphy | Cassandra Cain (blackbatboy) wrote in thereincarnates, @ 2013-04-14 17:40:00 |
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Entry tags: | colin ford, owen murphy |
Who: Owen Murphy and Colin Ford
What: Stuff. Fun stuff. Random stuff?
Where: Colin's Agency office
When: Friday, April 12th, 2013.
Warnings: It's Owen and Colin so gonna slap on a rather mature rating.
It was Friday! The day that everyone and everything packed up their things and got the hell out of work after doing only minimal work. Just enough so that if your boss came around, they would see that you were hard at work and getting everything you were supposed to be getting done in a timely manner. Or, at least that's what Owen thought you did with a fairly normal job. The last "normal" job he had was when he used to flip burgers at Patty's back in Seattle, and with that you actually had to do work, otherwise his giant of a boss (no, really, 6'5" was extremely intimidating) would come in and give him the glare of death, and that meant more patty melts and dish duty. Not quite the same as Colin's job.
Actually, he was completely fascinated with Colin's job. It was extremely complicated and there was a lot of paperwork involved, but from what he'd gathered back when he spent a lot of time at the Agency, it seemed to be half paperwork, half drinking games. And sleeping on each others' couches. In fact, that was the best part of every office in the Agency; the couches were top notch. Which was good, because Owen spent a lot of time lounging around on them. Such was the life of a rock star; it was all playing gigs and lounging on your boyfriend's couch.
His boyfriend's couch. It sent a giddy feeling through him every time he thought about it. That's what they were, once again, and he was so stupidly happy about it. His boyfriend. Maybe it was all fate, them ending up back together? Maybe not, Owen didn't really think about fate as something that was real. Because if he had to think about fate, then maybe it was fate that he was on this couch, forgetting about the papers on his lap that were filled with his scribbles of ideas for new songs in favor of making popping noises as he stared up at the ceiling.
Oh yeah. Definitely fate. Maybe he should talk about something, anything, bring something up. Anything up. But the popping noises were a lot of fun.