Simon Fox (freetrader) wrote in theunboundic, @ 2018-02-19 17:54:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! time: december 31 - january 6, maura pines, simon fox |
my sugar is so refined
Who: Simon & Maura
What: Baby, it's cold outside (remix)
When: Wednesday, Jan 3 (after this)
Where: Simon's Apartment
Simon realized the implications of what was happening a moment after the ink dried on the page of his journal where he was talking (and absolutely not flirting) with Maura. Looking up and around his small living space, scattered with old newspapers from a dozen different towns, piles of clothing laying inelegantly over the backs of chairs and a half-open box of bootleg liquor from some Clovennian province where they were exceptionally proud of their grapes. Dishes from a number of lonely meals were "soaking" in the sink, a muddy pair of boots left in a corner slumped over a rolled up rug that supposedly was a copy of something patented by an in-demand designer from Belailles. Boxes of various and sundry items of questionable legality were stacked around, including a pile of posters "signed" by Nena Cousteau.
But - and this was an important but - it was warm, a thing that evidently most of Glynn (even the nicest of houses) couldn't boast at the moment.
Springing into action he scooped up the dishes, the laundry, the clutter.
He hardly had anything to eat in his apartment that wasn't fermented or molded. His extra blankets amounted to a ratty quilt his mother had made for him too long ago and a heavy wool blanket more suited for covering product in a wagon than a person. He laid it out over his sofa, studied it for a moment, and then tore it off to lay over some wooden crates stuffed with small bags of dried lavender that someone said would sell in the fall yet here they were. Not every gamble was a good one. Maybe Maura would like some lavender with brandy and sweets? Does she like lavender? That seems like something he ought to know - at the intrusive thought, Simon nearly banged his head into a wall. Stupendous.
In short order most of his sins against cleanliness had been either tidied up or hidden; there was the brandy and two glasses on his coffee table, his shirt was tucked in. Now to spend the next several minutes figuring out how to arrange himself on the sofa so that he looked the appropriate level of relaxed (but not too relaxed) and friendly (but not too friendly).