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 Posted: Mon Jul 30, 2012 9:11 pm
When Marissa ascended the stairs back up to the main part of the house and Rhiannon went to go mess with her things in… her room, he supposed he should now call it… Paris gave a long-suffering sigh and went back to watching Tyra and a bunch of whiney bitches on the television, finishing his snack and mentally preparing himself for the lunch he was sure his mother would soon be forcing encouraging him to eat.
He tried to ignore the sounds going on in the room down the short hall, but every once in a while he’d glance down there to check and see if he could see any visible sign of activity.
This probably wouldn’t be as bad as he’d initially made it out to be. Rhiannon didn’t seem all that talkative anymore, and he was telling the truth when he’d said he’d probably end up sleeping the whole time, so it wasn’t as if they’d be forced into one another’s company 24/7. He could tolerate her presence in his hours of consciousness. Besides, it wasn’t like he intended to stay forever. It was nice spending time with his mom and all, but eventually he wanted to get back to normal living arrangements and start worrying about the idea of moving in with his boyfriend again.
As much as his mother might like him to stay for an extended period of time, Paris just didn’t see that happening with the way their relationship seemed to be working now. A week was fine. Lunches and dinners and shopping trips and other meet-ups were fine, too, but she had her life and he had his and he was more than happy to keep it that way.
That still didn’t mean he was all that keen on sharing, but he figured that was going to have to be something he’d need to get used to, and quickly, what with a baby coming and all.
Might as well start practicing now.
He’d flopped over to lay on the futon by the time his mother had brought down hot chocolate for him and tea for Rhiannon, and hadn’t moved an inch when she disappeared back upstairs again to finish lunch, nor did he initially notice that his cousin had drifted back out of the bedroom and into the combination living-area/kitchenette—which, in truth, was more living room than kitchen, but it had its own stove and sink and microwave, and enough cabinets for one person to get along fairly well.
Paris didn’t sit up when he finally noticed her, simply tilted his head a bit to spare her a short glance before turning his eyes back to the television. “What, you just gonna stand there?” he said.
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Posted: Mon Aug 06, 2012 7:57 am
There was something different about Paris. Of course, she hadn't really seen him in years, but from the things she'd heard about him from others, she could only assume that he was just as wild and unruly as he had been in high school.
She didn't move as he looked up at her, not for a few seconds at least. Eventually she moved away from the narrow hall and made her way over to the couch, all but pushing Paris's legs aside for her to sit down and tuck her own legs beneath her. It probably wasn't an open invitation, but se took it that way nonetheless, and reached out to swipe a finger of whipped cream and chocolate from Paris's drink.
"What's got you on medicine like that?" she wondered, unable to stop the curiosity from building. Maybe he really was just like she'd heard about him and he was just... resting or something.
Rhiannon wasn't sure how she felt about knowing Paris was different from what her mother had last told her. Part of her wanted to rub it in her mother's face, but another part just felt depressed that she couldn't have spent more time with the boy people used to assume was her twin.
"Your boyfriend... the one with the guitar?" she ventured as well, trying to place a face with the idea of someone being there with them that evening. Not that she minded. It was Paris's mother's house after all.
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Posted: Mon Aug 06, 2012 12:09 pm
“Hey, that’s mine!” Paris exclaimed, sitting up to grab his mug of hot chocolate before she could steal any more of the whipped cream and chocolate syrup, carefully guarding it close to his chest.
He gave her a dirty look for hogging his futon and stealing part of the topping of his drink, inching over a bit to put a little more distance between them, moving one of his feet to “accidentally” nudge her hip. Then he lifted his mug to his face and dragged his tongue through the whipped cream, effectively claiming it as his own in an entirely childish manner. He couldn’t seem to care about his behavior one way or another. He could do what he wanted. She was the one intruding.
Paris watched her suspiciously for a few moments. Now she wanted to talk? She certainly hadn’t seemed all that interested before. Not that he particularly wanted to have an in depth conversation with her concerning the many things wrong with his life. Most of the things he’d said before had merely been in an effort to get some sort of a reaction. Now that she was reacting—or was she just trying to be obnoxious in turn?—he wasn’t interested in playing along.
Things had certainly changed. They weren’t little kids anymore. For his part, Paris didn’t intend to just fall back in to old habits when he couldn’t even say he knew her all that well anymore. Rhiannon was practically a stranger to him after eight years.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he mumbled in regards to the medication, though it wasn’t like he hadn’t mentioned something about it before, offering up some of the information like it was a joke. Now that he was being confronted about it he felt much less willing to reveal the finer details, and he sipped at his hot chocolate as he continued to give his cousin the evil eye. “Everyone’s got their own issues,” he said.
“Issues” was, perhaps, not the most accurate description he could have used. He thought fighting in a magical war was a bit more than a common “issue.”
“Yeah, the one with the guitar,” he continued, dropping the first topic and turning willingly to the second. His boyfriend was a much safer topic of conversation, as it turned out. “His name’s Chris. We met last April. He plays baseball for DCU. He’s been staying here with me since Friday, but he won’t bother you. He’ll probably seem really awkward at first, especially since we look alike. He gives Mom funny looks all the time. Probably doesn’t realize he’s doing it, though. Just pretend like you don’t notice. He’ll get over it.”
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Posted: Sat Aug 11, 2012 9:06 am
Rhiannon quirked a small smile in what could be mistaken as amusement as Paris wiggled away from her, but that didn't deter her. She shifted in her place on the couch and took a sip of her tea, listening as Paris spoke about having issues and his boyfriend.
She didn't know if she was more curious about what Paris was hiding, or why he bothered acting so flippantly about it when it was apparently something that upset him. Why bother bringing it up at all? Unless it was just to make his mother upset, which wasn't cool at all.
The 'evil eye' went ignored, though. She was used to it from her mother. After a while it was just... numbing instead of making her feel uncomfortable. She felt a little guilty about comparing him to her mother, but if he was going to be so closed off like that and act as though she was ruining his life, then... it wasn't difficult to see the comparisons.
"Have you asked? If he realizes..." she wondered as she sipped at her tea. Paris sounded as though he just trusted his assumptions when his apparent boyfriend was looking at people funny. Why not tell them to stop?
Not that it was any of her business. She just wasn't sure she liked being told what to do, now that she was away from her mother.
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Posted: Sat Aug 11, 2012 4:36 pm
Paris reserved the right to decide when he did and did not feel like sharing his business with people. He thought it was perfectly acceptable for him to be willing to share such information on his own whenever he felt like it, but then to clam up about it when people started poking their noses in—especially when it was someone he didn’t really want sticking their nose in.
Sure, yeah, they’d been okay friends when they were little. That still didn’t mean he had to be friends with her now if he didn’t want to.
Or maybe he was just mean and bitter and a complete b***h.
At the moment, he didn’t particularly care one way or the other.
Paris inched himself away a bit more, annoyed that his space was being invaded when he’d been quite comfortable laying there by himself. He shot Rhiannon another look and curled himself up in one corner of the unfolded futon, guarding his hot chocolate between his chest and his raised knees.
“Have I asked what?” he wondered. “Why he looks at people? I already know why he looks at Mom funny. She looks like me and she’s Mom.”
He said it like that explained everything, and to him it did. He was used to be people looking at his mother. It wasn’t like she was hideous to behold. He might not care all that much for the female body, but that didn’t mean he was incapable of recognizing attractiveness in a woman when he saw it.
“There’s got to be incest in our family somewhere,” Paris joked, rolling his eyes. “I always figured Gramps and that hag who’s supposed to be our grandmother were a bit funny. Not that it matters now. Honestly, I don’t really care if Chris looks at other people. Everyone looks at people,” he said. He certainly wasn’t worried about Chris getting any ideas in his head. His sweet, silly little Pooh Bear was much too awkward and noble for anything like that.
“He’s not going to get in your way,” Paris added, eyeing his cousin as she made herself comfortable on his temporary bed, “not like you’re getting in mine, at least. You have your own bed to lay out on. Hell, you have your own room. This futon’s mine until I feel good and ready to leave, so if you don’t mind I’d kind of like it back. I’ll tell Mom you’re stressing me out,” he threatened.
Not that his threat was likely to do anything.
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