Andante.Lola
Andante.Lola
Nekago Suto Touma
"Suto is a very rare breed... A Japanese Chameleon."
Standing off to the side of the hallway with his head bowed and his books clutched tightly to his thin, narrow chest, Suto was employing what he considered to be his greatest superpower. This way, he was nearly invisible. His chin nearly touching the knot of his tie, he stood by, waiting for the crowds to abate so that he could stretch his long legs without fear of tangling them with anyone else. His slightly-too-long hair brushed against his eyelids as he peeked out, looking for an opening to make his break for it. See, while Suto was no giant when he was living in America (at 5'11, he was barely average for a boy his age), but here he seemed to tower over most of the boys, not to mention the girls.
With great height comes great responsibility.
... Which leads us back to his currently awkward position. His brown leather messenger bag hung loosely on his hip, the strap beginning to dig into his shoulder in a slightly uncomfortable manner. Did he dare adjust himself and risk being bludgeoned by the forthcoming onslaught of Asian pupils? Or did he stay put? He was weighing the pros and cons of his upcoming decision when she walked by him.
She was none other than Yōko Sasaki, the happiest, sweetest girl in school.
She waltzed through the halls, a grin taking up almost her whole face. He watched as her long hair flowed behind as she watched the world around her go by. She was walking with friends, but she seemed too enthralled by the environment she was immersed in to notice her. As she came nearer to Suto's hiding place, he felt his head raising, his neck craning to catch a better glimpse of his sunlight-infused beauty. His instincts were yelling "No, you idiot! Stay down! Do you want to crush the innocent civilians?!... Or worse yet, be trampled by them?"
... However, while he was pondering all of this, his feet developed a mind of their own and stepped out away from his safe haven against the wall. As he shakily moved out, he stumbled and fell, just as Yōko was passing him. Mortified, he flailed his arms about, trying, in vain, to grasp hold of something that would prevent him from collapsing on the girl of his dreams...
With a rather loud thud, he fell to the floor.
... Just behind Yōko. As he watched her dance down the hallway, inwardly, he was almost cursing himself for not falling on her... As that would have at least given him an excuse to talk to her... She faded from his view just as another flood of udnerclassmen were moving about in the hallway, some tripping over him and causing a general chaotic scene.
A few moments later, his hair mussed, his tie considerable loosened and crumpled, and his glasses askew, he collapsed into his seat right in front of Yōko with a loud sigh as he slapped his forehead with his palm. They say love makes us do crazy things... but for me, it just seems to be stupid things...
Andante.Lola
Kegan Micah St. Bride
"... What's cookin', good lookin'?"
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
This was the steady sound of Kegan's head thumping against the wooden door frame. Not too loudly as to wake his neighbors, but loudly enough to cause alarm to a young couple walking in the hallway of the apartment building. Again, he groped his pockets, certain that if he checked just one more time, his key would appear.
... No such luck.
He huffed a sigh and ceased his self-harm. Regardless of his blindingly white clothing, he crumpled down to the ground, leaning his back against his door, which really would not budge without that blasted key. His knife kit folded neatly under his arm, held to him like a precious treasure... Which it was. You see, Kegan was a chef... and a fine chef for being so young. At eighteen, he was already the head line cook at the best restaurant in town. He had worked very hard to get where he was. Lots of time, passion, dedication, and copious amounts of support from both his mother and his best friend, Amberlee, were the driving force behind his success.
Amberlee. Riley.
His thoughts drifted to her as he sat, defeated, on the floor. She was the person to whom he ran to with every small problem, every triumphant moment, and every tragedy that he faced. Ever since they had been small, she was always there behind him 100 percent... He liked that he would come home from a dinner shift, and often find her already there in his apartment. As soon as he had gotten the place (which was really only a few months ago), he had made it a first priority to give her a key. She made good use of that key, which kept Kegan from feeling so lonely. She was allowed to come and go as she pleased, and would join Kegan for at least one meal nearly everyday. His favorite thing to do for her was to cook up elaborate variations on simple "midnight snack" type food... And she had been coming over later and later as f lately...
As he was wondering if she knew how much he appreciated her, his hand crept up and slipped his hat, an old 1920's cabbie-style hat that had formerly belonged to his late maternal grandfather, off of his head. As he did so, the cool night air felt so refreshing against his scalp, which had been covered by that hat through the entirety of the stressful dinner shift, unusually busy for a Monday night, also revealed a cap of short brown hair, nearly permanently mussed by said hat. Kegan was the king of hat hair. Somehow, he wore it well, though he preferred to keep it covered. It was more sanitary that way, so far as the kitchen was concerned.
More interesting than his hair, however, was the fact that as the hat came off, a small key came rolling down the side of his face. Ecstatic with the new hope that this key filled him with, his face immediately broke out into one of his characteristic grins as he nearly leaped from his place on the floor, quickly fitting his key into the lock and stepping into his cool, dark, empty apartment.
He shut the door behind him, not bothering to flick on the lights. A small apartment, just one bedroom, a kitchen/living room, and a bathroom were all he had and really all he needed. It had enough room to entertain a small group of guests, which he enjoyed doing, but it was still a rather small apartment. He had the place memorized, and there really wasn't much to it, anyway. He knew that seven steps from the front door was his island, where he spent most of his time at home. On that very island laid his acceptance letter to the Culinary Institute of America, arguably the best culinary school in the nation... A school that he had been dreaming of attending since he was twelve years old... A school that he had been hand-picked to attend and was highly wanted from the faculty... A school that he would not be attending.
He was afraid to leave Riley.
While she was still visiting him regularly, she was changing. Becoming more withdrawn. He would find himself holding up most of their conversations, a position he had formerly been unacquainted with. The girl was a chatterbox... And Kegan was a more than willing listener... However, lately, he had found that their conversations were full of pregnant pauses... When he received his letter, he just left it on the counter... Depressed both for his inability to attend, as well as his ignorance as to his friend's becoming a recluse... He didn't want her to see the letter, but had been in a hurry, and had no time to hide it.
He shook his head to clear it, and continued on his mission. Eight steps from there was the living room, complete with new furniture from IKEA, a gift from his mother. You see, Kegan was a chef through and through. He appreciated modern design and clean lines. Everything in the apartment was very tidy and well-kept, but his kitchen was a work of art. Yes, the appliances were older, and the countertops had some chips taken out, but Kegan kept the space immaculate.
Mr. Clean would be green with envy.
Nine steps to the left from there would find the door to Kegan's bedroom... Though he would often find himself sleeping on his couch anyway. There was a hamper set up in this room, propping open his bedroom door. Knowing this, Kegan stepped into the room and immediately untied his long, white apron and dropped it in the bin, followed by the unbuttoning of his chef's jacket. He lifted his t-shirt over his head and dropped that soon after, appreciating the feeling of the air on his skin.
... What he wasn't expecting was for the light to turn on.
Andante.Lola
❧__________________Arden Miles Lowell________________❧
... is in for an interesting evening... He can already tell...
Arden tried not to make a habit of starting drama.
Really, he tried.
Really, he tried.
However, it seemed as though drama had a way of finding him. After playing in one of the hotter jazz clubs in the city, our hero sat on a bench, merely observing the nightlife of the city. He held a cigarette between his fingers, though it remained unlit. Truth be told, Arden had been working his way through the same pack of cigarettes for almost a year now. He almost never lit them, fearing for the damage that the cancer sticks would inevitably cause his lungs... It really made sense that he didn't smoke. After all, a skilled violinist wouldn't smash his hands with a hammer. A ballet dancer would never put a leg through the wringer... It only seemed logical that a trumpet player wouldn't clog up his breadwinners with tar and rat poison... This is why he chose not to make a habit of smoking, either.
... It would seem as though drama and smoking are really rather similar on some level.
... but just as he liked the feel of the paper against his lips and he enjoyed the atmosphere of smoke breaks, Arden did reap some enjoyment from watching the twists and turns in the lives of others. See, he had always played a bit of a supporting role in his own life, choosing instead to assist others through their trials and tribulations rather than partaking in any of his own.
He was pondering this when he heard a clamor nearly right above him. "Ah... and here we go..." He raised his head, putting a pause to his thoughts as he watched the exchange between a very familiar voice shouting down to a group of teenagers with nothing better to do with their time than go catcalling. He watched as the nervous boys, fueled by their gratuitous hormones, took off down the street, running as fast as their too-long legs could carry them. When he replayed the scolding in his head, he was finally able to pinpoint just whose voice had carried over him.
"Chamonie..."
Her name rolled off of his tongue for the first time in quite awhile. The syllables tasted like butterscotch in his mouth and remained there for a bit. Of course, he had seen her picture around, heard her songs on the radio, but those weren't the girl he knew. As he said it, he felt himself swell up with anger. Not necessarily because anything particularly sour had happened between them, but moreso just because that was what he associated with that name. After a time, he smiled to himself, stifling a bit of a chuckle. "Well, I see some things never change..."
At that moment, he straightened himself completely, a nervous and slightly embarrassed expression taking over his perpetually calm face. "I must look like such a creeper out here! What if Chamonie saw me and now thinks that I was one of those kids trying to peep in at her?! Th-that's bad news... And now I'm talking to myself!" He shook his head slightly, laughing at himself for being ridiculous... "Way to go, Arden..."
He picked up his trumpet case, intending to walk back home to his own apartment on a different, and much less luxurious, side of town, and before he knew what he was doing, he was making his way up the stairs to her apartment, explanation for his being outside her room during that ruckus in tow... but all of that went out the window the second that his finger hit her buzzer. Arden stared in disbelief at his misguided finger as it left the button. He grabbed his hand, as if he had been bitten by something and then looked at it in more detail. "What were you thinking?!"
As he ran a hand through his tousled blonde hair, staring at the speakerbox, Arden could only think of one thing.
"... I could really use a smoke."
... Mr. Brightside...
... Mr. Patience...
... Mr. Sunny Side Up...
... No matter what you call him, he's still just Arden.
Andante.Lola
• Ⓚⓔⓖⓐⓝ • Ⓜⓘⓒⓐⓗ • Ⓢⓣ Ⓑⓡⓘⓓⓔ •
MISTER NOBLE EQUESTRIAN
MISTER NOBLE EQUESTRIAN
4:28 AM.
A time practically unknown to most teens his age... Well, unless they had still been up since the night before, that is. For Kegan, though, this was a time he was rather familiar with. "Morning person" doesn't describe 4:30AM. "Morning person" just wouldn't make sense. Kegan's friends typically referred to him as an "asscrack of dawn person", a title he could certainly understand... and maybe even appreciate. His internal body clock was already tuned to know that his alarm would be sounding in two minutes, so a large hand, with long, thin fingers emerged from the depths of his dark blue down comforter, fumbling around a bit to find his alarm clock so as to disengage it. Once he found the pesky button, he pressed it, and his head arose from the blankets, soon followed by his shoulders as he sat up. As he ran a hand through his tousled brown hair, a yawn stretched out his face, which he rubbed with his hand, noticing the stubble that had grown, seemingly overnight. He swung his long legs over the side of the bed, hesitating in putting his warm feet onto the cold, hardwood floor of his bedroom. He decided, instead, to stretch his arms over his head, allowing his muscles to warm a bit in preparation for the morning. He finally manned up enough to put his feet to the floor and prepare for the morning.
He paced over to his dresser, debating with himself over what to wear... As if it would change from any other morning. He laughed at himself before deciding on a pair of tan breeches and an old red t-shirt, but grabbed a pair of jeans and a blue sweater with an argyle pattern for later. He walked to his bathroom, quickly brushed his teeth and washed his face, and rushed back out. He was in a hurry this morning, as every morning, to get out to the barn on his family's horse farm. He walked down to the house's large kitchen in his socks, surprised, but at the same time, not so surprised to see his mother there with a cup of tea. He walked over to the island, resting his hands on the granite countertop and looking across at his mother. "Oh, hey mom... What's up? You look tired." His mother nodded slowly, the dark circles under her eyes becoming more and more apparent. "Yeah, you can say that again... The mare down at O'Malley's went into foal late last night... You know how it goes. They called me in the middle of the night, so I went. Went fine, though. Beautiful little gray colt." Kegan smiled at this. He loved hearing his mom's stories about her job as an equine veterinarian. Even seeing her now, as exhausted as she was, just solidified in him more that he wanted to do just as she was doing.
Actually, when he thought about it, he looked a lot like his mom. Her light gray eyes were soft and kind, easily charming anyone who tried to look into them. He also had her softer facial features and easy smile. However, he had traits from his father, who was still upstairs asleep (though probably not for long. An operation with as many head of horses as the St. Bride's did not sleep for long), as well. He had his father's strong nose and penchant for facial hair. His most obvious trait that he did most certainly NOT get from his father was his height. Standing at a rather impressive six foot-two inches, Kegan has towered over his father since he was about thirteen years old. At barely over five foot-four, his father was a small and slight man. He often looked funny standing next to his wife, but his build made him perfect for his former career. Marshall St. Bride was a very successful jockey in his day, riding racehorses to victory for many years before taking an early retirement and spending his time in his new career, training.
Kegan was interrupted from his thoughts of his parents by his mother clearing her throat. She smiled at him over her cup of tea, while gesturing with her head toward the door into their mud room. "Earth to Kegan! I was out in our barn this morning on my way back in, and I couldn't help but notice that someone was rather restless for his morning workout. You should probably get on that, Keegs." Kegan snapped back to attention before laughing at his mother's teasing. He raised an eyebrow at her, jokingly. "Yeah, I'm sure that Conor's just heartbroken that he gets to sit inside and eat for a few more minutes instead of working up a sweat out on the course." His mom raised an eyebrow in return, giving him a warning look. At that, Kegan immediately raised his hands in defense, backing toward the mud room in mock retreat.
Once he was through he the door, he pulled on one of the many pairs of boots lined up next to the door, settling on a pair of dark brown ones, before setting out the door to one of the many barns on their property. The one closest to their house is the one that housed the St. Bride family's horses, while the other barns were reserved for either his father's training projects or the boarders who kept their horses here. Walking through the barn, he grabbed a wheelbarrow and a pitchfork, throwing two bales of hay into the wheelbarrow and pushing it down the center aisle of the barn, throwing a flake of hay into everyone's stall aside from one of his horses, Conor. The bay Thoroughbred gelding stood seventeen hands tall, a good fit for a tall man like Kegan, and his blood-red coat glistened under the dim sunlight filtering through the windows. Grabbing his schooling saddle from the tack room, he quickly brushed Conor off before saddling him and moving out into the outdoor roundpen for a warm up. He eased the gelding into his routine slowly, taking care to pay attention to his muscles and make him as comfortable as possible before moving out onto the cross country course he and his father had put together some time ago. He worked his horse over the jumps and through obstacles until they were both drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. Boy and horse played as one.... but they also exhausted as one. He cooled him down slowly before putting him away and feeding him his breakfast and then walking inside to start his own.
He walked the stairs back up to his room, quickly stripping himself of his riding clothes and making his way to the shower, where he enjoyed the feeling of washing the dirt and sweat from his body. Once clean and refreshed, he was suddenly reminded to check his phone, which had been sitting on his dresser all morning. He read the text from Josh before sending one of his own.
TO: JOSH
Good morning to you, too! Sounds great! I'll be right over there. I'll text
Annie and Riley, if that's alright, and let them know, too.
TO: ANNIE, RILEY
Good morning, beautiful! Coffee at Capulet's?
Good morning to you, too! Sounds great! I'll be right over there. I'll text
Annie and Riley, if that's alright, and let them know, too.
TO: ANNIE, RILEY
Good morning, beautiful! Coffee at Capulet's?
He threw on his leather jacket, pulled on a pair of adidas sneakers and walked out the door to his truck, sorting through the CDs in there before turning the ignition and starting off for town. His hands gripped the steering wheel a bit too tightly, as he thought about what was to come. He was nervous, thinking about all of the new experiences his friends had been having while away at school... He was afraid that they would see him as less worldly (thought how, he didn't know. he traveled constantly for shows) and less mature and grown up, seeing as he still lived at home when he wasn't on the road.
These thoughts consumed him until he pulled his truck into a parking space at the coffee shop. The bell on the door rang, announcing his arrival, once he stepped in. The aromatic smell of coffee beans hit him like a ton of bricks the moment he walked in. It was a comforting smell, and the whole situation was only made more comforting when he saw his good friend Josh sitting at a table. However, the situation tensed a bit when he noticed Riley sitting a few tables over... "s**t... What do I do? This is kind of an awful situation, really... On one hand, Josh invited me here... On the other, Riley... Well, Riley's really cute. Gah, Kegan, that's terrible logic. Just do the right thing for once, ya a*****e. Bros before hoes... right?" And that lead him to walk over to Josh's table, grinning, albeit somewhat awkwardly, before sitting down across from him and making the first attempts at small talk. He thought to himself "Okay, Kegan... keep it light. Just friendly talk. How's school? How about the weather? Whatever you do, do NOT bring up Riley...." He took a breath, looked Josh in the eye and softly said "So... Did you see that Riley is sitting a few tables away?"
Kegan's face instantly dropped as he realized what he had done. "Well, s**t."
Maybe Kegan should stick to horses.
•
•
•
Andante.Lola
"Ugh... This job is killing me..."
Sleepy eyes drifted across the road, stopping at the intersections in the rural paths he was travelling to come home at this ungodly hour. Having just left from a nearby farm where he had assisted with the midnight birth of a foal, his focus was, understandably, shifting. His hand gripped the steering wheel of his pickup truck lazily, his opposite elbow resting on the window while he attempted to scrub the sleep from his eyes with his other hand.
The hands of a farm veterinarian are an interesting sight to see. Strong enough to nail fence posts into the ground and control an angry bull... but also delicate enough to gently draw blood from the tiniest veins or coax a frightened animal to eat.
He had thought about this often... Especially when driving home just as the sun was rising, even though he had just gone to bed hours before. There were no days off for veterinarians. It is a little known fact that animals only get in trouble on weekends, holidays, and in the middle of the night. It was with this thought that he suddenly came to and realized that his pickup truck was heading straight for a ditch. He immediately swerved back onto the road, his hand grabbing at his heart which was now beating a thousand times per minute. He took a deep breath, waiting for his blood pressure to come back down from the clouds.
"... Literally killing me."
He drove through the familiar streets of his hometown, the cornfields being replaced by quaint shops of every kind and friendly people. There was always something to do and everything was within walking distance of their house, which thanks to all of his hard work managed to be a rather large and very nice house, which gave his daughters all the freedom he could wish for them without subjecting them to the dangerous streets he had roamed through his childhood in England. No, his girls would never be left to the mercy of crime-ridden streets he had grown up on. They had often asked to go to England with him. After all, they had never met an entire half of their family (and, honestly, the American half didn't have much to do with them anymore, either), but he always refused. It was dangerous there, whereas Oregon was safe and idyllic. This is why he had chosen to move here with his wife...
Erm.... former wife. Right.
He sighed again, driving past the coffee shop, a favorite spot for the locals. He decided to park there and grab a cup of coffee to motivate him to stay awake and get a few things done before he would, inevitably, be called out again. He stepped out of the cab of his truck, his boots hitting the pavement in rhythm as he made his way to the door. He stopped just outside of it and checked his phone, aware that he had not so much as looked at it in hours. He leaned against the wall, checking texts and sending a few of his own.
To: My Darling Sister Ly-Ly (Christ, had she gone and changed her name in his contacts again? He'd have to fix that...)
Good morning to you, as well. Hope all goes well at the doctor's. I'll be around for a bit today, but who knows how long that will actually be. Hope to see you soon.
-Roger
To: The Henhouse
Good morning, girls. I'm sure none of you noticed, but I've been gone since roughly 11:30 last night. I do hope that you took care of Annie for me... I will assume that you all played a part in getting her through her morning routine and will, therefore, be bringing home pastries for you all as a reward. Good work. I love you all.
-Dad
Even in text messages, he was painfully formal. He unceremoniously shoved his phone back into the pocket of his jeans and swung open the doors of the local eatery, glancing at the menu only briefly before placing his order. A perky girl with too much makeup on and her hair done in pigtails took his order. "Ah, yes... um a large coffee please, black is fine. And I'll also have a box of whatever you're calling those. Thanks very much.", indicating some delicious-looking pastries in the case. He paid the girl, leaving a hefty tip, and went and sat down, awaiting his food to arrive and trying not to fall asleep in the chair. It was here that he noticed his eldest daughter, Faye, walking their dog, Cyrus. He got up and walked over to the window. As a veterinarian, it warmed his heart to see someone caring enough for their pet to get up at this time for the sake of the happiness of said animal... Lord knows, there were enough animals at the Frank house. Roger never could seem to say no....
His order was soon ready. He politely thanked the girl and left the shop, climbing back into his truck. He pulled into the street and then off again when he found a place to park near where Cyrus and Faye were. He rolled down his window and whistled loudly. "Bella! Cyrus! Breakfast? I've got crumpets or some rubbish for you!" He thought to himself "Bella... That's not even her first name. What kind of idiot parents let their daughter go by her middle name?" It was at this point that he realized that he, himself, went by his middle name in conversation. "Oh... Right... but Faye isn't an awful name like Cyril! I picked Faye out myself!" Now, having changed his mind on what to call her, called out "Faye! Faye Arabella Frank!"
He did his best not to embarrass them, but as with most things, he often failed.
Andante.Lola
Roger was sitting out on the back porch while all of this was going on, a cigarette dangling from his hand. He knew he shouldn't smoke anymore... but, frankly, the man was fathering practically a small village-worth of children. He was allowed his vices. He raked a hand through his blonde hair, just staring out into the gardens that were so lovingly tended by he and his wife. They truly were a sight to behold.
The spring air was refreshing to him, wearing only a sweater without a jacket. After what had seemed like a particularly brutal winter, the warmer temperatures were certainly welcome. He flicked his cigarette ashes into the wind without a thought. The baby was napping inside (or so he thought) his other children were... Well, god knows where they were. He loved his children dearly, but ten? Really? He had never pictured himself with so much as one!
... With another drag of his cigarette, he nodded to his thoughts. Occasionally, at times like this where he got to think just a little too much, he would wonder if he held any resentment toward his wife for turning his life into what it had become... He loved working. He loved traveling. He loved feeling successful and being busy... and now, he was another suburban dad. He gave up his cosmopolitan life in England for this... He was normally able to shake off those feelings, but he couldn't help but think about how much he was enjoying his moment of silence here on the back steps... and about the fact that, had he not had the sperm of a minor deity, this sort of thing could happen more frequently.
... and then he chuckled to himself, suddenly proud of his virility. His kids would hate it if he brought that up. Speaking of his children, he was sure that one of them would come out soon. He quickly stamped out his cigarette on the steps, dropping the butt into the trashcan, and heaved himself to a standing position... which was getting harder now that he was getting older... Though he hated to admit that to himself. Forty. Wow.
He opened the sliding glass door in the back and leaned against the kitchen counter... Waiting for the chaos of his army of a family to commence once again.
xxxxxxxxxxx Andante.Lola
• Ⓚⓔⓖⓐⓝ • Ⓜⓘⓒⓐⓗ • Ⓢⓣ Ⓑⓡⓘⓓⓔ •
Stumbling to his apartment door, Kegan fumbled with his keys, dropping them in the process of trying to unlock it. His cheeks flushed as his six foot-four frame crumpled down to the floor in search of his keys, laughing to himself all the way as he steadied himself against the wall.
The boy was drunk. That was no secret.
After his last night at the restaurant before his big adventure to Florence, the other guys in back convinced him to go out to the bars with them as a celebration of his send-off to Italy. He was going to miss them for sure. The back of the house of Alinea was really like some sort of strange fraternity house. The family vibe was clear to see and Kegan was going to sorely miss the camaraderie... but he was certainly looking forward to his time in Italy! While he wasn't the type to typically watch shows like The Real World, he knew one thing: The girls on those shows were always smokin' hot. Sure, he might be a serious professional in the kitchen, but he still knew how to work the ladies... As was evident by the lipstick smudges down his neck and the tousled hair underneath his signature brown cabbie hat.
He had found a brunette fox at one of the bars and followed her home like a puppy, much to the cheers and slaps on the back from his friends. Kegan wasn't typically the one-night-stand kind of guy... but he couldn't help but use the fact that he was leaving the country tomorrow to be on a nationally aired reality show as a bit of a pick up line... Of course, he lost this girl's number on his drunken stumble back to his place, but he was okay with that. As it would turn out, she was really nothing to write home about. After finally figuring out the lock and almost falling flat on his face on the hardwood floors of his apartment, the young chef tripped through his kitchen before collapsing on the couch... He had two hours before he had to wake up again for the adventure of his life.
THE NEXT DAY
Kegan's head shot up at the sound of his cell phone's alarm, his bloodshot brown eyes wide as he looked around, finding himself face down on his living room rug. He was never the type to have an issue waking up, but after the night he had, this was a little rough. "Well... I guess I'll sleep on the plane..." He sat up, rubbing the stubble on his jaw, and mentally preparing himself, though, in all honesty, he was still a little buzzed.
Heaving himself from the floor, he made his way to the shower, quickly going through all the typical morning motions before emerging, fully cleaned and dressed in a pair of dark wash jeans, a light blue t-shirt and his favorite red zip-up. He'd have all the time in the world to dress to impress in Italy... but when you're going to be sitting on a plane for ten hours, comfort is kind of a priority. His bags had been packed for several days. As he looked around his small bedroom, he glanced in his closet, noticing that the only clothes that remained hanging were his numerous chef coats in a plethora of colors, some with coordinating neckerchiefs. He frowned a bit, upset to be leaving the work he loved... but excitement soon replaced it as he turned off the lights and locked his apartment behind him for the last time for the next five months.
He rolled his suitcase down the hallway, picking it up as he walked down the four flights of stairs that took him down to the bustling busy streets of the city of Chicago, which had been his home for over a year now. As he hailed a cab, he glanced back up at his building, grinning as he thought about the adventure that was to come. The ride to O'Hare Airport was spent mostly in silence.. It was practically a rule in Chicago to not speak to your cabbies, not to mention the fact that it was really only about three in the morning. By the time he got to the airport, he had his passport out and ready. International travel was really nothing new to Kegan, as he had been going to Ireland by himself since he was a small child, where he'd spend the summers with his cousins. He moseyed his way through the airport security, not waiting all too long before he was sitting on the plane ride that would take him on what he was sure was going to be the greatest adventure of his life. As soon as his rear hit his seat in coach class, he was nearly bouncing with excitement... which was a bit of a problem considering how difficult it was for him to fold up his mile-long legs to fit in the tiny seat in the first place. Somehow, he managed to get a seat in between an older couple, who shot him several disapproving glances, the wife often huffing as she did so. After about fifteen minutes of this, Kegan, rather awkwardly, squeaked out "Um... excuse me... but would you want to switch seats with me...?" and, after some awkward shuffling, they did.
Glancing around the plane, it occurred to Kegan that anyone on this plane could be one of the people staying at the house... It could be that hot fox with the red hair a few aisles over! ... Or it could be that fat, sweaty guy in the row behind him... "Please don't let it be that guy..." became his new mantra... and he chanted that to himself until he finally fell asleep as the plane began to go down the runway...
ARRIVING IN FLORENCE
That bender the night before must have truly kicked the young chef's a**, as he didn't wake up until the announcement came over the speaker to prepare for landing. He grabbed his leather messenger bag and held it close to him as the plane bumped its way down the runway, his excitement growing with each passing moment as he traveled from plane to baggage claim to city streets of Rome! He hailed a cab, as he had done so many times before back home, and climbed in, instantly shocked at the chatty nature of the driver! He couldn't help but smile to the point where his cheeks hurt as he stared out the window, taking in all of the sights and sounds and smells (especially the smells!) of Italy. He rolled down the window as they drove through the Florence, taking in the scents wafting from the small bistros on the sidewalks. It was true that the thought of sampling true Italian cuisine had played a major role in his decision to audition for the show... He was a true foodie at heart... And nothing makes food taste better than 1) It being free, and 2) sharing it with beautiful women.
These were the thoughts running through Kegan's head as his taxi pulled into the drive of the palace he'd be staying in. As he slowly made his way out of the car, making note of the taxi and bus leaving the manor as he pulled in, his jaw just dropped. Taking in the marble columns, the epic staircases, and sheer grandeur of what he was to call "home" for the next five months, the biggest smile yet lit up Kegan's face. He was literally speechless to the point where the cabbie had already gone around to the trunk and tossed his luggage at him. The bumping of the suitcase jolted him out of his daydreaming and prompted him to pay his cabbie, grab his luggage, and run up the stairs to his new house.
As he pushed open the front door and found himself standing on the marble floor of the foyer, his breath was, once again, taken away at the massive place. His eyes drifted up the staircase to where, he assumed, the bedrooms were located. How did the rooming work on these shows again? Would he have a roommate? Kegan hadn't lived with anyone since he moved out of his house at seventeen to go to culinary school in New York... He wasn't used to sharing his space with anyone... How would that go over? He was distracted from his sudden nerves as he noticed the other people standing there with him: a smokin' brunette, a picturesque blonde...
... and another skinny white guy.
This surprised him quite a bit and his body instantly tensed... Through this whole process, somehow, it had escaped him that there would be other guys here... Guys who could probably beat him up. Oh boy. Instantly, he sized up this guy, deciding that since he was (likely) taller, he was probably safe. But one could never be sure. He relaxed and his charming smile (which he often considered his secret weapon with women) brightened his face again, walking rather easily into the room, making eye contact with his new comrades. "Well... Here we are... In Florence... This is a beautiful thing." he said in a quiet voice, still in awe of his surroundings. He set down his bag, leaning against it. "I'm Kegan St. Bride, by the way... I guess you can call me Keegs if you want to... Most people do." He tried to focus on memorizing the faces around him, but he kept getting distracted by the house... Especially once he eyed the hallway that, he surely thought, lead to the kitchen. Without saying another thing, he picked up his bag and made it to the kitchen in only a few long strides (an advantage of his height). Looking around at the gleaming granite countertops, the shining stainless steel, and the elegant design... Kegan dropped his bag with a loud thud and supported himself against the counter... Now... now... He was home.
"Jesus Christ... I can't believe that this is real life..."
((OOC: Kegan's outfit is linked to the top photo smile ))
Andante.Lola
5:28 AM.
A time practically unknown to most people... Well, unless they had still been up since the night before, that is. For Kegan, though, this was a time he was rather familiar with. "Morning person" doesn't describe 5:30AM. "Morning person" just wouldn't make sense. Kegan's friends typically referred to him as an "asscrack of dawn person", a title he could certainly understand... and maybe even appreciate. His internal body clock was already tuned to know that his alarm would be sounding in two minutes, so a large hand, with long, thin fingers emerged from the depths of his dark blue down comforter, fumbling around a bit to find his alarm clock so as to disengage it. Once he found the pesky button, he pressed it, and his head arose from the blankets, soon followed by his shoulders as he sat up. As he ran a hand through his tousled brown hair, a yawn stretched out his face, which he rubbed with his hand, noticing the stubble that had grown, seemingly overnight. He swung his long legs over the side of the bed, hesitating in putting his warm feet onto the cold, hardwood floor of his bedroom. He decided, instead, to stretch his arms over his head, allowing his muscles to warm a bit in preparation for the morning. He finally manned up enough to put his feet to the floor and prepare for the morning.
In a bit of a daze (and still in his underwear, no less!), Kegan wandered into his kitchen, continuing to stretch. He looked about his little apartment with sleepy brown eyes. His place was really nothing special, a small one bedroom apartment no different than any other in this building. Same chipped countertops, same paper thin walls, same scratched floors... but there was one thing that set his apartment apart from the others... There was not another room in that entire building that was kept cleaner, more immaculate, than his kitchen. He made his way to the fridge, pulling out a package wrapped in white butcher paper (Kegan had a very friendly and working relationship with both the local butcher and fishmonger) and laying it on the counter while he readied the rest of his ingredients. Olive oil, fresh herbs, garlic, peppercorns, and a lime juice found their way to the counter as well. Still half-asleep and completely on autopilot, Kegan began mowing through the ingredients, allowing his body to fall into a familiar rhythm. The sound of his knife swiftly chopping through the herbs and garlic provided the perfect soundtrack to the fresh smells filling the space around him. Once prepared and mixed with his wet ingredients, and after laying out his fresh fillets of tilapia down in a glass pan, he poured his marinade over them before sticking it back in the fridge. He prided himself on providing lunch for the guys at the bakery (the menu today? Fish tacos.He'd prep the rest later this afternoon and, since Alexander wasn't here, they could actually enjoy a protein for once) and always tried to make something spectacular...
... Which really only succeeded in making him miss the savory side of cooking even more. He physically shook his head, clearing those thoughts out of his head. It was too early in the morning to have regrets already. His fish in the fridge, he glanced at the clock again, "6:00... Alright then." Making his way to his small bathroom, he showered and prepped for his day in no time flat, choosing to wear a a simple red long-sleeved t-shirt, a pair of jeans, sneakers, and completing the look by sliding his signature brown cabbie hat over his cap of short brown hair and slinging his navy blue work apron over his shoulder... He rather relished the feeling of normal clothes, knowing that working at the bakery, he would be likely forced into some strange costume at some point or another. He was sure that Edward would be running some ideas by them... He could only pray that he would have the most tame costume, considering he was typically in back baking instead of up front working with the customers. (Aside from when he would intentionally come out front with an order, flour strategically smudged on his cheek as he flashed a smile toward whoever he was bringing his goods out for... Oh, Kegan knew how to play the game.) By the time he was finished preparing himself and cleaning his kitchen, it was nearly time to go. He grabbed his keys off of the table near the door and locked up, making his way down the hallway just as the elevator was going down. He cocked his head at it as he walked past, suspicious. He left his apartment at this time nearly everyday and never saw anyone else leaving... Immediately, his thoughts turned to Mary May's... Their accountant lived here, he knew... On the same floor, even. With his luck, he'd end up walking right behind her on the way to the bakery...
... And he was right. About fifty feet behind her, in fact. Kegan's long legs (being six foot four had its advantages) allowed him to catch up pretty quickly, but he still hung back about twenty feet or so. "Hey, even if she's trying to destroy our business... can't complain about the view", giving her the quick up-down and restraining himself from giving out a little whistle. It was a bit early for cat-calls, after all. A few more blocks of his little peep show and he finally arrived at the bakery, the bell ringing as he pushed the door open. His nose was immediately greeted with the enchanting scent of butter. He sighed happily, quickly locating Edward in the corner and walking over, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Dude... How long have you been here?" Without waiting for an answer (because he figured it would be somewhere along the lines of "since forever" ), Kegan sat down across from Edward, picking up the coffee and taking a sip. He picked up a biscuit, taking a small bite and nodding in satisfaction. "Nice work, man... Very nice mouthfeel. Did you take my suggestion about keeping the butter super cold? 'Cause you've got some really nice flakiness going on in here." He polished off the rest of the biscuit, licking a few stray crumbs from his fingertips before propping his feet up on a chair from a table across from them, actively creating quite a roadblock for anyone else trying to get by. "You know what would really take these to the next level, though? Maybe some cracked black and red peppercorns on the top... Just for a bit of--" He immediately shut his mouth and took another sip of coffee. He hated it when his instincts kicked in. He really didn't want to play alpha here. It was Edward's shop after all. He attempted to resurrect it with a quick "Seriously, man. Really good. We should sell those." He glanced toward the door. "So, I know Alexander is on vacation... but when's Cain getting here?"
He wanted to tell Edward about his observation of the accountant (Suzette? Susan? Suzanne! That was it!), but he figured he should try and keep this as professional as he could... Since, with Edward in charge, it would inevitably become some sort of side show soon enough with the costumes, the baseless obsession over Allie, the other women that would inevitably end up in the shop (though Kegan wasn't complaining about that part)... All Kegan could do was sit tight, strap in, and enjoy the ride... And, usually, he did.
(OOC: I just tried the polyvore thing for the first time ever! It's kind of fun... but probably not as much fun for boys as it is for girls... You can click on the top photo to see Kegan's clothes!)
Andante.Lola
Despite the fact that I had absolutely zero interest in being here, I had to admit. The views were beautiful.
I sat next to the window in a comfortable chair, leaning my arm outside, a cigarette dangling from my hand. I wasn't sure of the smoking rules of this villa and, even though I hated the very building for what it represented, I still had every intention of being respectful, of being that "proper British chap" everyone not from England has come to expect. Hearing the cheerful phone ringing from the nightstand, my arm tensed and I crushed out my f**.
If there was one thing I've always hated... it would be phone calls.
I've never enjoyed talking on the phone. I feel so "on the spot" and uncomfortable... There's no body language to convey things I can't say, I can't smile my way out of situations... And, more than anything, I can't just leave.
... Which is why the phone call I had received informing me of the inevitably awkward meal shared between strangers in their Sunday best irritated me.
Heaving my luggage onto the floor, I hung the garment bag up on the closet door and unzipped it. Deciding on a blue shirt and slacks, I laid them out on the bed, my hands quickly smoothing over any wrinkles. I couldn't help but think about the familiarity of it all as I did so... I got dressed, buttoning up the buttons from bottom to top, just as I did nearly every day that I went into my veterinary practice. I tucked my shirt tails into my trousers and rolled the sleeves up so that they still covered my elbows, but left my hands and wrists free of fabric constraints... Also helpful for keeping my sleeves out of the blood and innards of livestock. Would that look ridiculous? I could never stand the feeling of clothing on my wrists... but would it look too informal? After all, I was supposed to be attending a meal to meet my future mate, not neutering a bloody German Shepherd! Should I wear my stethoscope as well, then? Never before had I worried about my outfit before...
I decided to add my best watch, a jaunty little black newsboy cap, and a black vest to the ensemble and "dress it up" a bit... Not that it really made me feel any less like a surgeon and more like a husband. I swear, I could have smacked my parents for doing this to me. What made them think that they had the right to just go and decide my future wife for me? The woman I am supposed to love and hold for the rest of my life or some rubbish like that? I was more than capable of doing it myself... when I got around to it... After work... and training... and maybe after the fall harvest.
Oh, who was I kidding? I barely had time to make it out to the pub with my mates FROM work, nevertheless finding a lady to spend the evening with.
But still. My parents really overstepped their boundaries with this one. I was still silently fuming as I stood in front of the mirror, knotting the silver tie I had picked with a neat, simple, and stylish knot when a knock erupted on my bedroom door. When I answered the knocking with a hesitant "... Uh, hello?", a man stood in front of me, carrying a tray of wine and glasses. My eyes rolled skyward and I mouthed a silent "Oh, thank God." before a rather commanding "Red, please... And don't be stingy. I need this more than you know. Taking the glass from the man, I swirled it under my nose, inhaling deeply the sharp aroma of the drink. I took a strong swig, beginning to feel much better to the point where I felt well enough to exit my sanctuary. I was no stranger to the bottle... With cooking being a favorite hobby of mine (When I found time for it between my veterinary work, training racehorses with my dad, training eventing horses for my own gain, tending my garden, and... you know... sleeping...), I had been known to grab a bottle of wine... and then forget about dinner and fall asleep on the couch with a glass next to me instead. Hell, it's not like I had anyone there to judge me for my drinking, so why would I worry about it? My dogs didn't care.
Attempting to push the denial of my own addictions to the back of my mind, I instead chose to take in the marvelous architecture around me. The archways, the stonework, the pillars... It all was almost too much to take! I sipped my wine and reveled in my surroundings, enjoying the silence.
... Until I heard that unmistakable sound of a child. Ugh.
I've never been a fan of children... and, if there was one thing I wasn't expecting to find in this "hook up hotel", it was kids. Despite my best intentions, and perhaps it was the wine talking, my thoughts immediately went to "I swear, if this Japanese broad is packing around vermin, that's it.". When I made it to the bottom of the stairs, I saw the two gorgeous women standing there and, I can't lie, I was actually rather impressed.
... and jealous.
Neither of them were Japanese and, therefore, neither of them were destined for me. This frustrated me a bit already... so I took another healthy drink and put on my most charming smile. I mustered up the courage to enter the room with a bit of a swagger. In short, I tried to mask my disappointment as much as I could. I grinned at the women and the man (actively avoiding the child) and decided to start out simply, seeing as it seemed as though no one had spoken yet... Probably due to the obvious language barrier... What was meant to be a strong and resonant voice came out as more of a pitiful, squeaky "... Uh... Hello....?" with a rather strong accent...
It was terrifying that I had said one word and I already felt so foolish. If this was foreshadowing, this story was bound to end horribly for me. Never before had I wished so mightily that I could be wrist-deep in dog entrails... It would have been much more comfortable.
Andante.Lola
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Donec massa ipsum, porta vitae semper eu, sagittis a erat. Sed massa orci, tristique eget varius scelerisque, pharetra ut turpis. Nulla facilisi. Duis et libero sit amet massa varius ultricies vel a est. Nulla facilisi. Donec id rutrum urna. Donec sapien diam, tempus in eleifend sed, malesuada quis sapien. Phasellus non odio odio, id posuere augue. Aliquam eget ligula augue, eu vehicula massa. Etiam mattis, odio sit amet suscipit convallis, dui libero lobortis mauris, congue scelerisque nunc nibh at libero.
Andante.Lola
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