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 Posted: Thu Sep 15, 2011 10:27 pm
Takes place the morning after this RP. Of all the things Chris could have called him for -- a date, perhaps; a nice snuggle on the couch; a pleasant walk in the park with the dog -- coming over to cook for someone he assumed was a complete stranger, a complete stranger that Chris had apparently picked up at random off of a bench the night before, had been dead last on the list of quaint, quasi-romantic, and altogether bourgeois activities they commonly got up to together. In fact, it hadn’t even been on the list at all.
He would have understood if Chris had said something along the lines off “but it’s my best friend and he’s going through a rough time right now” or “my cousin’s in town after a fight with his parents and doesn’t have anywhere else to go” (which would have been a bald-faced lie, as Paris knew Mrs. Gallo would have happily taken them in and perhaps even fussed at Chris for not immediately bringing them into her fold), but “I found this kid on a park bench last night and he looks kind of tired and hungry” was a bit unbelievable, not because he couldn’t imagine someone falling asleep on a park bench of all places, but because he couldn’t understand why Chris thought it was a good idea to bring them into his apartment -- his large, expensive apartment, which Paris was beginning to grow quite territorial over specifically because it was large and expensive.
Only Chris’s soft voice of concern and near whine of “I’m lousy in the kitchen” had Paris agreeing to help, but only after deciding that “So call your mother” was not the response he wanted to give. Mrs. Gallo was much too kind a person to worry herself over a juvenile delinquent simply because her son was incapable of dealing with his own strays.
He had his dance bag slung over one shoulder, fully intending to leave and attend his afternoon dance class as soon as he was done dealing with Chris’s mess, and lifted his hand to knock on the door as he stood in the outer hallway, smoothing out the short, yellow and pink floral printed dress he was wearing over a pair of knee-length white leggings. His hair, straightened for the day, had been pulled up in a hasty ponytail on the way over, his bangs brushed aside and tucked behind an ear.
He frowned at Chris when the door was opened, and walked right in as if he owned the place. “My boyfriend, the bleeding heart,” he said, pulling off his pink heels as soon as he’d entered and taking a moment to place them in the front closet, before tossing his dance bag on one of the couches in the living room and setting his purse in its normal spot in the center of the island in the kitchen. He kept his voice low, as he didn’t immediately see Chris’s guest and assumed he must still be sleeping.
Probably in Chris’s bed, up in the loft. Paris frowned to himself as he thought of the bed, his usual sleeping place whenever he spent the night, being sullied by street rat. He’d have to make sure he washed the sheets. There was no telling what disgusting things the stray had brought in with him.
“What made you think it was a good idea to pick a random kid up off a bench and bring him into your home? What if he’s a junkie? Did you even bother to look at his arms to make sure? What part of town did you find him in? If it was my side, he’s probably bad news. You’d better make sure he doesn’t steal anything before he leaves. Really, with the amount of times you’ve seen my neighborhood, you think you’d have a bit more sense about it. He could be a hustler, you know. Did he hit on you? Why didn’t you just dump him off at a shelter or, better yet, leave him where he was? What if he’d pulled a knife or a gun out on you? I swear, you could bring a serial killer into your place and you wouldn’t have a clue until he had a knife to your throat.”
He continued on this vein for quite some time, already making his way through the kitchen to search through the cabinets for something simple to make.
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Posted: Thu Sep 15, 2011 10:36 pm
He needed help. There was no way he could take care of Ladon on his own. Well, he was sure he could take care of him, but he wasn’t sure how well. He only knew basic sports medicine, first aid, and how to boil water. Most of his food was made for him, dropped off by a loving mother, or picked up from a restaurant or store on the way home. And although he had plenty of food to use to make a delicious meal, he’d never learned the first bit of business in recipes. He knew they were just like mathematical formulas, but he always ended up burning something or not cooking something all the way. Zia refused to let him cook when she was over, even though she wasn’t all that great at it, either, so what did that say about him?
Chris sputtered in disbelief at the greeting from his girlfriend when he answered the door; frowning and shuffling sheepishly back out to the kitchen once he was sure the door was locked behind them. The giant screen that blocked out a good portion of light from the large windows that took up an entire two-story wall of the apartment had been raised soon after it had been shut the night before, so Chris was woken in the early morning by the sun coming up and reflecting off buildings. He was a little concerned about waking Ladon prematurely due to the brightness of the late morning light. The guy needed his rest. He’d been so out of it that he’d fallen asleep on a park bench, if that said anything!
“He’s not a junkie!” he sputtered again, although he was smart enough to keep his voice down. “And he’s not a hustler, either.” Actually, he didn’t know. He’d only seen the teen in the park, always alone, always looking like he’d seen better days — which was really depressing to think since he was so young.
“I couldn’t leave him out there! I would have felt too guilty. And I was going to take him to a shelter, but I’d met him before. I’ve talked to him and he seems nice,” he said, trying not to sound too worried over someone he barely even knew. He’d just seemed so lonely. Paris seemed lonely, too, at times. Maybe he was drawn to lonely people?? That was weird…
“And you know I can take care of myself, Paris…” he said, giving his girlfriend a look that clearly said that he was perfectly capable of powering up or calling for help. Chris moved to the refrigerator, pulling out some eggs, butter, and the bacon he’d thrown in to thaw overnight. “I didn’t know what he might want to eat. I thought he might wake up around breakfast, but he’s been asleep all this time.
He knew because he’d been up in the loft to make sure Ladon hadn’t died during the night or something crazy like that. And then he gathered up some clothes that he hoped would fit him if he wanted to change into something fresh. Even though he'd been given clean clothes to wear during the night, he didn't want to force him to keep wearing used clothes, after all. Once Ladon woke up, he would find a small pile at the bottom of the large, low bed consisting of a tee-shirt from some fundraiser, a pair of the smallest khaki shorts Chris owned, a belt because he was sure that anything Ladon wore of his would slip right off. He already had a new toothbrush from the night before that he'd given him. His mom liked to collect them when they were on sale and gave them to him for the off chance that he had a friend stay the night, but forgot their own toothbrush. In reality, Chris was sure that she had him keep them for when she decided she wanted to bring Peter and spend the night, herself. Thankfully, she had yet to attempt that.
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Posted: Thu Sep 15, 2011 11:45 pm
Ladon had slept heavy due to exhausting. When he woke, it was usually to his own alarm or to the neighbors fighting back at his apartment. His sleeping schedule had changed drastically. Staying up at night, he usually rested all through the day, making his already pale complexion worse. He did sleep beside the window, having moved his bed up against it with a lot of struggling on his part to push it, and managed hsi does of sun just by sleeping. It meant that the light hitting his eyes no longer bothered him, and despite having the windows wide open, he only turned slightly and went back to bed.
It was evidence how tired he was when Chris moving about the room hadn't woken him, and neither Annabel jumping on the bed to rest beside him, deciding she too wasn't ready to wake up just yet. When Chris left, Ladon was still sleeping. His body slightly turned, arms dead limp beside him, mouth open as he breathed in deeply. There had been no sign he was waking up soon and was completely at peace.
It wasn't till later that he started to cycle through another nightmare. In fact, Ladon had had one during the night, and had clamped his mouth when he woke up, straining his ears in the dark to make sure Chris hadn't hear and rushed up to see what was the matter. It was only by the grace of forgetfulness that he didn't remember why he can called out in his sleep, but the unsettled feeling, the racing of his heart, and the cold sweat told him it had not been good. It had taking him about an hour to fall back asleep.
First it was a restless turning, and then his heavy, deep gasps had turned shorter. The murmuring voices traveling from downstairs up to the room, muffled and distant, reminded him of them and that time. Shadows contorted and flashed of blood mingled in gristly detail, swirling through his mind's eye as screamed echoed down hallways. There was pain his in dreams. And while that time had been long since gone, it repeated in his dreams as endless as it had seemed back then. "I don't know.." He whispered, pleasing as his brow creased. Fire burned and rose against walls. The smell of flesh tore at his nose. "..don't know.."
He continued to turn, and pressed against Annabel, who had to get up twice to find a spot before hoping off, noticing that falling asleep here wasn't going to happen. The dog rested her snout on the bed, watching the stranger, giver of scraps, whisper in his sleep as he tossed. Then at last the dog trotted it's way out of the door and went downstairs to fetch it's master.
((*Permission given by Guine to NPC Annabel))
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Posted: Fri Sep 16, 2011 11:08 am
Paris raised a brow and looked at Chris as if he didn’t quite believe him, convinced as he was that this stranger had to somehow be Bad News.
“You found him in the park. Parks make wonderful places for a late night rendezvous. Haven’t you ever heard of the Bois de Boulogne?” he asked, reaching into one of the lower cabinets for a pan with which to cook. He glanced at the food Chris took out of the refrigerator, wondering how Chris could be so good natured as to plan a full, hearty breakfast for someone who was likely to steal something on his way out, when Paris thought a bowl of Campbell’s Soup would do just fine.
“Or St. James’s Park? Didn’t that used to be a nasty place? ‘Much wine had passed, with grave discourse, Of who ******** who, and who does worse,’” he recited, rather nonchalant as he did so, setting the pan on the stove. “'When I, who still take care to see, Drunkenness relieved by lechery, Went out into St. James’s Park, To cool my head and fire my heart.’”
It was obvious who, between the two of them, was the better man. That Chris could pick up a total stranger and bring them into his home, no questions asked, showed a remarkable amount of faith in the goodness of mankind. Paris wasn’t so sure man was so honest and irreproachable. He’d certainly seen very little proof of it himself. It astounded him, that Chris could continue to be so fair and trusting when he toured the city at night, when he knew the level of hate and corruption that walked its alleys and poisoned its streets.
He wasn’t sure if that was something that should be changed. Was it a strength or a weakness? Would it get him killed or change the world for the better?
Paris didn’t have a clue, but he wasn’t about to let some worthless bum take advantage of his boyfriend’s charity and generosity.
“I didn’t say I don’t think you can take care of yourself, I just don’t think you think things through all the way sometimes,” he said, stopping to face him. “Look at where you live compared to where I live. Look at who your parents are. Look at your apartment compared to my house. It’s like a completely different world, Chris, and not everyone is going to transition so easily into it. Some people will take advantage of you and how willing you are to offer them a hand. You know the world isn’t some fairy-tale place,” he told him, spearing him with a pointed look. “People aren’t always looking for a white knight, and if they are in this city,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “it isn’t always because they want to be saved by them. You have to be careful, Christopher. Around everyone.”
It was… difficult, he decided, managing a life where he didn’t want to think people were inherently bad or evil -- just lost and misguided, but still people at their core -- with a normal life where he assumed most people were out to get you. There was a difference between the two, a line separating them that he had to be careful to tread -- normal people were not all good, but the bad guys were not all bad, and the good guys could be just as cruel.
Annabel scampered down the stairs at that point, and Paris smiled and leaned over her to give her a few pets and scratch her behind her ears. “There’s the pretty puppy. Are you being a good guard dog? I hope you at least know how to bite when someone’s about to go after Chris because, between you and me, I think your master’s a little too trusting.”
He glanced up to the glass barrier and railing of the loft, unable to see the bed from his vantage point, but sure that their guest was occupying it.
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Posted: Fri Sep 16, 2011 3:26 pm
Chris moved out of the way when Paris went about getting things ready to cook, frowning lightly at her skepticism. He knew Paris was just worried about him, but the way she was going on about how this stranger he'd brought in... well, he was starting to doubt himself.
He shook his head to let her know that no, he hadn't heard of the parks, wrinkling his nose at the poem she recited. "Who wrote that...?" He certainly hadn't heard that one before, but... he wasn't much for reading, anyway.
Ladon wasn't a bad person, though. He'd had every opportunity to take advantage of his generosity, but the young man had been nothing but polite and courteous, albiet a bit shy and reserved. He'd had no reason to feel threatened by him or think that he had any ill intentions. But he doubted that Paris would listen to him if he said that. She already seemed to be set on the idea that this person he'd brought home was bad.
"He's just a kid," he tried to defend, although he realized that probably didn't sound all that great. "I mean... he's our age..." he corrected himself, not wanting to insult their guest by acting as though he was a child. "And I know, Paris... I am careful," he insisted, although he was sure Paris would doubt his words.
He looked up when Annabel came down the stairs and sat to be pet by Paris. She soaked up the attention for a bit, before her attention was turned back to the floor above, as though she could hear something that they couldn't. Chris frowned, curious about what was up and moved around the island to head towards the stairs.
"I'll be right back," he said in an attempt to reassure his girlfriend, making his way up the stairs as Annabel pulled away from Paris to follow, her curled tail wagging from side to side.
Annabel reached the top before him and immediately went to jump onto the low bed, laying down around where Ladon's feet would be. Chris got up just a few moments after her, barely catching the young man talking in his sleep. Was he having a dream? Either way, from the expression on his face, it didn't look like a really good dream.
"Hey... hey, you okay?" he tried, keeping his voice quiet so as not to startle him. He didn't want to shake him, either... That would be a horrible way to wake up!
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Posted: Fri Sep 16, 2011 5:56 pm
The bickering between the young compel about the morality of strangers and the location said strangers of poor quality slept and did their evil deeds was unheard by Ladon, who was trapped in his own head and turning in the once comforting covers. His body was now twisting around them, feeling tighter from his own rolling about, and he felt even more bound - increasing the realism of the dream that he was still tied up, unable to move. The mumbling rising up to him warped and changed to the cries of others, close, personal friends who he had left in his life to dedicate to another. Tate. His mother. Andrea. He hadn't seen this people in what felt like ages, all gone to him, but they were here in his dreams. Regrets that were not being tortured in the same cells he was chained in. They cried and cried out for help, and all the while rats on fire raced around his feet among red puddles.
And still it asked. That sweet girls' voice. "Tell me."
And he repeated, again and again, not even knowing what was being asked but knowing he didn't know, and could not answer. "I don't know."
The brush against his feet was the first thing that jerked him awake. The brushing of something with fur as Annabel moved against his bare ankle. Despite his eyes opening, he still felt as if their were rats about and jerked and scooted towards the head board, panicking and freaking out as he felt the sheets around him. It was then that he looked up, and the massive windows that panned about the room that Ladon had pulled the blind from before going to bed shined bright light, creating Chris into a silhouette figure standing over him.
His first reaction was to survive, and he reached out and went for the area of the neck, gripping and throwing the boy down onto the bed, other hand reaching out to summon his weapon - but it didn't come. He needed his blades. He needed to get away.
It seemed Paris was right. Chris had let a dangerous person into his home.
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Posted: Fri Sep 16, 2011 8:20 pm
He rolled his eyes. Paris was pretty sure Chris didn’t understand and was only reassuring him to get him off his back. For someone so smart and worldly, he often wondered how well Chris actually understood the world and the manner in which it worked, especially in this city. He was so… idealistic. Almost naïve in a way, and Paris was tired of attempting to sway the naivety of other people. Rarely did any of them truly listen, it seemed. Or perhaps he was just too jaded. He didn’t know anymore.
He didn’t say anything in reply. The poem was unimportant -- if Chris really wanted to know, he could easily Google it -- and he didn’t think arguing the topic any further was going to have the effect he intended. He watched Chris head upstairs with the dog, keeping a careful eye on him until he could no longer see him from where he remained in the kitchen. Instead, he turned back to the food Chris had pulled out and the cookware he had already retrieved.
Did Chris really expect him to put together a full breakfast for someone who’d probably turn out to be nothing more than a punk kid in a drug haze? He didn’t even know why he’d agreed, aside from the fact that he’d rather not inflict such a responsibility on Chris’s mother, whom he may only have met just recently, but whom he thought he quite liked. It wasn’t really in his nature to help a complete stranger, at least not like this. Tossing someone a bit of spare cash in the street was a little different. At least then they weren’t cloistered up in his living space. Things always got a bit trickier in enclosed places. He offered food and money to people on the streets; he did not invite them into his home to use his bed and cavort among his things.
It was because Chris was so damned sweet, he just couldn’t say “no.” It made him feel guilty, especially when he took into account how badly he was lying to him. Paris didn’t handle guilt very well. Usually he hid from it, but with Chris it wasn’t that easy. Chris was his escape. If he escaped from his escape, what would he have left?
With a sigh, Paris continued gathering the necessary kitchen materials, trying to decide what else he wanted to make -- if anything. He paused long enough to dig into his purse for his iPod, not about to cook without background music if he didn’t have to. He assumed Chris would return downstairs with their guest soon enough, and so he didn’t feel bad shoving his iPod into the radio and scrolling through his playlists for something easy to listen to, though he at least made sure to keep the volume turned down low enough to where he didn’t think it would be very bothersome up in the loft.
Not that he really cared, to be honest. If the kid wanted breakfast, the least he could do was be polite enough to be awake for it.
He sang along quietly, figuring the other two would be down soon enough. “'I hear the clock, it’s six AM~. I feel so far from where I’ve been…'”
He heard shuffling above in the loft and the sound of Annabel letting out a startled yip, but he didn’t think anything of it. He had his back to the stairs across the room as he opened the package of bacon and began laying a few slices in the pan on the stove, turning the heat on medium.
“This isn’t going to take me very long to finish!” he called up to them. “Unless you want something else. I can make pancakes again. Or waffles. Or omelets. Otherwise you’re just getting crispy bacon and scrambled eggs! 'I break the yolks and make a smiley face~. I kinda like it in my brand new place...'”
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Posted: Fri Sep 16, 2011 9:04 pm
It happened so fast that Chris didn't even realize what was happening until he was on the bed, staring up at the young man, his golden eyes wide with shock.
Annabel let out a yip of distress and scrambled off the bed, and then looked around as if she wasn't really sure what to do, but because Chris didn't seem to be struggling, she didn't bark again. Instead, she paced beside the bed, watching to see what would happen and if there was anything she could do on instinct.
He might have a hand against his throat, but he didn't shove Ladon off. Breathing was difficult and he could feel the pressure getting to his head, but he didn't react. He didn't think Ladon had meant to do it. He'd just woken up, after all. Chris could hear Paris downstairs, he could hear the music playing and he knew that she would probably freak out if she knew his guest was pinning him to the bed. It was kind of pathetic, really. He was twice Ladon's size in both height and weight, but just a moment of being caught off guard showed him now much he shouldn't underestimate size.
"Ladon," he tried, still staring at the teen, wondering what he was doing with his hand that was reached out. "Ladon, wake up!" He didn't say it very loud, not that he could with his breathing being more or less cut off, not wanting to alert Paris to what was going on. He was sure Ladon would come to and he didn't want him to be even more embarrassed than he would be... if he was embarrassed at all.
He was curious as to what he'd been dreaming...
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Posted: Fri Sep 16, 2011 10:36 pm
His fingers were tight, gripping on Chris' neck and holding him down. One knee had moved up to press against the boy's midsection, pinning him as Ladon stared with wide eyes, somewhere deep in thought to summon a weapon. It was when panic and fear had shook in the reality he had no weapon, that he surrounded by sunlight, that pulled him back. Objects came into focus. Light form a wide window spilling on a wrinkled bedspread. Ladon's bare knee peeking from borrowed gym shorts. His knee pressed on Chris' middle. A boy wheezing for him to focus, looking alarmed, as a hand, HIS hand was clutching his throat.
He would have killed him if given the chance. If given a weapon.
The hand loosened, and Ladon's senses drifted back slowly. He scooted back to sit, hearing the noises of kitchen utensils and pans and some song drifting up from below. Was that Chris' mother? Sounded too young. Sister? He would have beat Chris to a pulp with a relative just downstairs. The dog whimpering beside him had him wondering how messy things could have gotten if he had to fight off a dog. It would have been messy to say the least, and he actually liked Annabel.
What did he have to say for himself? What could he say for assaulting a normal boy who had just allowed him to go to his home, eat his food, borrow his clothes, and sleep in his bed and then wind up trying to choke him to death? Nothing really.
"You startled me." Was his only explanation. It was an honest truth, even thought it lacked details as to why Ladon would think the best reaction was to try and strangle someone. Then he considered his grip. "I'm sorry. I didn't see who you were."
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Posted: Sat Sep 17, 2011 3:35 pm
Completely oblivious to what was occurring right above him, Paris was more annoyed that he hadn’t received a response than curious as to what Chris and his guest may be doing or discussing. He frowned and shot a perturbed glare up to the glass barrier and railing, imaging Chris shaking his stray awake while Anna lolled around on the bed being overly friendly.
“Fine! Scrambled eggs it is!” he announced, setting another pan on the stove while the bacon was sizzling away, cracking a few eggs into it.
He wasn’t entirely thrilled by the food made available to him. While he didn’t like the idea of wasting the effort or someone he doubted deserved his time and company, he’d rather not be stuck eating only bacon and eggs himself. He figured he could make some French toast, maybe cut up some fruit to serve with it. Chris had to have some in the refrigerator somewhere. He knew Chris’s mother usually did all the shopping. She wouldn’t let her son eat utter crap. She probably shopped at Whole Foods or something, one of those all natural and organic places where the prices were outrageously high. Yet it didn’t seem as if Chris used very much of it.
What a waste. He hoped his boyfriend didn’t let it rot.
Sighing lightly to himself, Paris used a fork as a whisk to cook and scramble the eggs, tapping his foot and shifting in place every once in a while to the rhythm of the music. Once the eggs were finished, he set them on one of the back burners turned on low to keep warm, then pulled a plate out of one of the cabinets, and placed two layers of papers towels on top to set the finished strips of bacon there before adding more to the pan. Setting that beside the stove and opening one of the nearby drawers, he took out a loaf of bread to start on the French toast, popping a few pieces in the toaster in case any of them should prefer regular toast.
“Chris, did you want any coffee?” he called up again, though he went to set the coffee maker anyway. Whether or not Chris said ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ he figured his boyfriend would end up drinking it anyway, and if he didn’t he’d just make him a pitcher of iced coffee to have whenever he wanted.
“What about your guest? Coffee? Tea? Hot chocolate? Juice? Water?”
He felt like he was talking to himself. He spared another glance over his shoulder to the stairs and shook his head while rolling his eyes.
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Posted: Sat Sep 17, 2011 6:38 pm
Chris gasped and coughed, lifting a hand to rub at his throat and neck once Ladon released him and backed off. But instead of seeming upset, Chris was just worried.
"It's okay, I'm sorry," he quickly apologized, coughing again as he pushed himself up to sit. He knew Ladon hadn't meant it. Why would he? He hadn't done anything to the other young man. "I'm sorry... I shouldn't have been leaning over you like that," Chris apologized again, wondering if Ladon had used enough force to cause any bruises. He obviously couldn't see it, himself. Instead, his attention was turned to Ladon, looking him over and trying to figure out if he was in shock or upset or... anything that would indicate him needing help or attention at the very least.
"Are you okay? You're not hurt are you?" he asked, knowing it might sound weird for him to ask him that, but he really was worried. People didn't usually do that, did they...? Was there something in Ladon's past that caused him to have post traumatic stress disorder? His reaction when he woke up was certainly similar to PTSD, but he couldn't be sure. A whole range of explanations for what could have happened to him went through his mind, but he didn't voice any of them. He didn't want to upset Ladon.
Annabel whimpered as she paced back and forth by the bed, and then finally jumped up onto it when everything seemed to calm down so she could lick at both Chris and Ladon. Paris was calling up from the kitchen. How long had she been calling up to them...?
"Uh, yeah! Coffee is fine!" he called down, his voice cracking a little, still getting over the strain it had gone under.
"My girlfriend is making breakfast if you want some," Chris explained, cautiously moving to get off the bed. "Uh... new clothes... if you want them," he added, pointing to the pile on the bed. He would just, uh... head downstairs now...
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Posted: Sat Sep 17, 2011 9:19 pm
Chris was apologizing for his behavior as if he was in the wrong. That he somehow had caused Ladon to fly off the deep end, but really, they both knew who had over-reacted. Ladon knew, and he wondered if Chris was being overly kind and worried because he didn't know what else to do in these situations, and that apologizing somehow made Ladon choking him make sense. Clearly Chris had to have done someone wrong as no SANE person would have tried to flip him and snap his neck. No doubt his sanity was being placed into question right at that moment, and Ladon felt his stomach twist into sailor's knots.
Annabel jumped on, breaking some of the tension with licking and Ladon touched her brow, petting her as an apology as well. He had honestly had to moment where he thought of how to kill her, and he felt horrible for it. The dog was only being kind and worried, though he now wished Chris had a braver dog to protect him in case people did attempt to hurt the kind teenager. Crazy people - like him.
I really am nuts.
The situation was far too awkward, and he sat there, rubbing his arm and looking around. Maybe now was his time to leave. Too bad this place was so high up that it didn't have a fire escape. He could lock himself in the bathroom and just teleport out, but that would be a large risk just to avoid embarrassment.
It was then that he heard someone calling up to them that Ladon turned his head. In his panic, he hadn't even heard anyone. They were distant, downstairs, and apparently making breakfast. Not his mother as Ladon first thought or his sister. The fact that he was some stranger who would now be attending a breakfast between Chris and his girlfriend made it even more awkward. Still, what could he do? Maybe he could just leave early. There was no need for Chris to be this nice after he tried to kill him.
As Chris got up, Ladon breathed deep. "I'm sorry." He repeated, looking up at Chris as he moved to the door. "I'm not crazy." Okay, that sounded better to explain in his head, but it just made him sound more like a lunatic.
He shut up right there. He'd dress in his clothes and head out.
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Posted: Sat Sep 17, 2011 10:46 pm
“Coffee for Chris and nothing for the bum,” Paris mumbled to himself, reaching into another cabinet for a mug to pour Chris’s coffee into once it had finished brewing. He hesitated while the cabinet was open and eventually pulled out two more mugs, one for himself and one for the stranger, even if he hadn’t gotten an answer to his inquiry about what he would want. He scoffed in annoyance as he set the mugs onto the counter, thinking that as much of a fuss he put up when he was left to take care of things on his own, he was really too nice for his own good.
He put the tea kettle on, more for himself than anything else, as he didn’t like the taste of coffee, but he put enough water in it for two people in case Chris’s guest should feel the need to choose a different hot beverage. He knew there were packages of hot chocolate around here somewhere…
“‘Dreams last for so long, even after you’re gone~… I know you love me, and soon you will see~…’”
He found a mixing bowl and quickly stirred together a couple of eggs, some milk, vanilla extract and cinnamon, then began dipping slices of bread into it one by one before placing them in a skillet to toast them over the stove, keeping an eye on the bacon at the same time to prevent it from burning. He even took a few pieces off before they’d gotten as crispy as he preferred them, just in case anyone else happened to like their bacon floppy.
He kept muttering to himself in-between singing along to the music, quietly mocking his boyfriend. “Paris, Paris, I picked up someone at the park last night, Paris. He looks so tired and hungry and lonely and I don’t know what to do. Can you come over and cook, Paris? You cook so good. Please, I don’t know how and you do it so much better, and while you’re busy doing that I’ll go make sure the bum isn’t stealing anything, and if he’s a hustler like you said I’ll just let him hit on me because I’m too nice to say ‘no’ to poor, lonely people, and you can do all the cooking and set the table and everything, and I won’t even stop you to give you a kiss ‘hello.’”
He needed to work on the whole bitter thing, still. He wasn’t even sure why he was so annoyed, aside from the fact that Chris apparently didn’t think things through all the way. Paris had to wonder if he himself might be jealous. He didn’t think he was. He didn’t have any reason to be. Except that Chris was bringing other people into his apartment. Paris didn’t really like anyone else intruding upon his escape. It was such a nice place, and he’d really rather keep it and Chris to himself.
Selfish, maybe. Okay, so it was very selfish, but he’d never claimed not to be.
“‘I go ‘bout my business; I’m doin’ fine. Besides, what would I say if I had you on the line? Same old story; not much to say. Hearts are broken everyday…’”
With so much cooking on the stove, Paris eventually turned the oven on low and stashed the eggs inside to keep warm, along with the plate with its continuously growing pile of bacon. He took out of a few more plates as well as eating utensils, setting them all on the counter in preparation for breakfast.
He really hoped the bum wasn’t allergic to eggs or anything like that. He didn’t think he’d be able to conceal his annoyance if that ended up being the case, and would hate to say something pissy in front of Chris -- thereby dashing the image of perfection he’d been able to cultivate in his boyfriend’s mind -- when all of his hard work went to waste.
“Paris,” he quietly told him, “you are a fantastic girlfriend.”
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Posted: Sun Sep 18, 2011 11:31 pm
Chris made his way over to the stairs, but paused as Ladon apologized, shaking his head at him. "It's okay. Really," he insisted, smiling and laughing awkwardly. "I guess you really could have handled yourself, out in the park alone like that." It was a little amusing to think of such a small guy like Ladon taking on wannabe professional athletes like himself, and he made a mental note to never underestimate him. And to never lean over him while he was sleeping!
"I don't think you're crazy," he added, no longer smiling and looking a bit concerned. "Don't worry about it, okay? But I don't want to see you hanging around parks late at night, again? I'll give you my number before you leave, in case you ever get in a pinch. I've got a car and occasional insomnia, so I really don't mind getting up in the middle of the night to go on rescue missions," he explained, lifting a hand to point accusingly at the other young man. He wanted him to know how serious it could have been if Chris hadn't come along.
"Did you at least sleep well? You were out like a light... and you don't look as pale... so that's good." The guy had looked so pale and sick the night before. He still looked pale and sick, but not as pale and sick. If Chris had anything to say about it, Ladon would have at least one more full meal before taking him to wherever he needed to go. "Anyway, you should come down and eat and meet Paris," he rambled, taking a few steps down the stairs as he continued. "I asked her to come over to help with breakfast. I end up burning everything and I didn't think you'd appreciate being fed charcoal."
And with that, Chris had gotten far enough down the stairs to disappear from view, but he arrived in the kitchen just in time to hear Paris mumbling to herself. He snorted lightly in amusement and made his way over to her, hugging her from behind and pressing a quick kiss to the back of her head.
"You are!" he agreed, knowing she was in front of the stove but pulled back enough to dig his fingers into her sides to try and get her to laugh. He didn't like hearing her grumbling so much. "Without you, I'd probably be eating cereal... or nothing." Probably nothing...
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Posted: Mon Sep 19, 2011 8:09 pm
Ladon nodded, watching as Chris left before lowering his head and then, as he caught on to the name, looked up. "Paris?"
But Chris was already heading downstairs. It seemed the voice he heard was - Nooo. It couldn't be the Paris he knew. There were bound to be girls with that name. Some valley girl whose rich, eccentric parents named their kids after cards and foreign places instead of just months like June or April. It sounded like a rich girl's name, but he had a hard time to make that connection due to the one Paris he did know. A very odd boy who had hadn't seen in months. Another relationship that deteriorated and resulted in them growing apart. Still, despite his doubt that it was even the same person, he slipped out of bed and started to put on his clothes from yesterday. As kind as Chris was being despite everything that a sane person shouldn't tolerate, Ladon felt it best that he didn't wind up taking the boy's clothes and having to come back later to return them. He had over-stayed his welcome long enough and breakfast was really pushing it. If this was a hotel, Ladon would be owing Chris for the 5-star stay.
Dressed back in his jeans, socks, and t-shirt, Ladon tried fixing up the bed back to being neat and tidy, brushed his hair and teeth, and went downstairs to look more decent (and hopefully saner) than he did before. He might have moved a little faster than the steps then usual, but he had been hearing voices in the kitchen, and he just had to be sure. It was certainly familiar. Too familiar. There was no freakin way it was Paris. NO FREAKIN WAY!
Even though he moved down the steps to really see, even a tad excited to see, he felt a twisting in his stomach if it was. What did he say? Should he be angry that Paris never contacted him or guilty of not being the one to call him up? Should he feel depressed that Paris didn't seem bothered to call or happy that he was here now? And then what of Bili? The boy was sure to ask, and it was too tender of a topic that having his friend (still...right?) say 'I told ya so!' would be lemon juice and rock salt to hear. He didn't want that, and what with almost choking Chris over being woken up, he wondered what he would do to Paris if the boy decided to make fun of him.
The last step was taken, and Ladon stood there, looking over at Chris' "girlfriend".
"Paris?"
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