Drabble:


Normally, he wouldn't care. He actually didn't care about his own things half the time. However, it wasn't until recently that he started doing something that he was taught to do when he was younger, but never followed through with it once he had hit his teen years. He never really minded it and dealt with the issue when the time came around as it did once a week on Webday, but usually, he let himself be a slob until then. He recalled back at the Demons' Dorm, Uru would come in, strip off his shirt, toe off his shoes and socks, wiggle out of his pants, and lounge in his underwear if he was considerate enough to actually wear them. And by Webday, he'd have seven outfits, or more, ready to be washed and he'd cycle through his clothes every so often, but mostly consisted of a small limited number of articles of clothing. Brenna gave him a lot of slack for that... in fact, if it wasn't for Brenna, his twelve or thirteen outfits would really be just two or three. He never really did enjoyed mix-matching his clothes ... his sense of "fashion" was limited to throwing whatever the hell he wanted on and go out the door. His towels would hang on the handle or the bed or the back of his chair or lay in a pile of wherever he felt sufficiently dried before abandoning the cloth to do whatever he wanted. Sometimes, he'd let his weights just lay on the ground at the base of his bed, sometimes, he'd just leave the cup at his computer area and his bed unmade, the closet door ajar to reveal the pile of clothes he stuffed in there that he decided he didn't want to wear.

He was a slob.

However, it was different. He was on his knees with a cloth and some chemical cleaner as he wiped down the coffee table, picking up his coffee cup as he swiped over the area with the damp linen before moving into the kitchen. The dishes that he had used were put away, the counters were cleaned, and the dish washer was running nicely. He actually preferred to hand wash it so that he definitely knew something was clean and he preferred that if the job was gonna be done then it was to be done right. As he moved from the front door to the common area to the kitchen to the windows to the bedroom and bathroom, Uru touched everything to make sure things were clean. He found himself doing that a lot - thinking that it was to be sure things were clean - but he just did it because he felt as if he should. He touched everything as he quietly moved about the room. Sometimes he'd have music playing softly from his eyePhone. Moving to the bedroom, the demon leaned down to pick up his clothes on his side of the bed; two pairs of pants, three shirts, a tank top, and a pair of briefs. He never enjoyed sleeping with clothes on, but he had to be modest, for his roommate's sake. Though, a lot was changing since living here. Stripping off his shirt leaving him with his a pair of extremely comfortable, gray sweat pants and a plain white tanktop with a web decal at the left shoulder, Uru continued to pick up articles of clothing that laid about to be washed.

With the dryer running with that subtle hum and smell of fabric softener and detergent, Uru was sitting in the bedroom after having made the bed of their blankets folded on their respective sides - split down the middle, with the first batch of laundry dumped onto it. He recalled the roommates having a heated discussion of the particular methods of how to put away laundry where Uru stated that he would not fold the boil's underwear led to the effectiveness of their individual methods of folding shirts and socks of how plain and boring Uru's clothes, socks, and underwear were, and that Uru was going to do the laundry if he continued to protest. He protested. So here he was, sitting on his side of the bed as he folded shirts into squares on his lap, placing them on their respective owner's side of the bed, pants into their odd pentagons, underwear into squares, socks into balls, towels into their squares, putting them where necessary; sorted by colors and everything else to be hanged in the closet.

He wouldn't say he had control issues, he knew a lot of things were out of his control. But sometimes, it was nice to know that things are done and that they were done right. Perhaps he did have issues with it that he just wanted to have some sort of sense of control in his life which was in chaos every day it seemed. Putting the clothes away in their respective locations, he finally put his music on - a calm, indie/folk song - as he went about the dorm room to make sure the foxfires had their water, Faustus and Aster were behaved and that Regal wasn't left with the hassle of wrangling the pack of minis himself, put everything into their place.

After a while, looking over everything and making sure things were okay, the demon hellhound sat himself down back on the couch with a soft sigh through his nose. He used to be a slob with his things, but because this was a shared space, it was only right that he actually tapped into his past and be the good boil that kept everything presentable. He was almost certain that the monster would have a word about it. He wouldn't exactly care what the guy said, he was gonna keep doing it as a way to say thanks for having him. Reaching over, Uru grabbed at the inky, black cloth that used to be his scarf the year prior, now it was but a sash that slung along his hip when he went out. The fabric was soft to the touch, the sensation was like one's could sink into the darkness of the material. The edges were frayed and tattered, but with a layer of permafrost as a way to keep it from causing more damage to them. His thumb slide across the cloth's length until it reached the end where it was cleanly cut from the rest. His lips pulled downward at the memory of his mother ripping his most treasured possession that once belonged to his father. He didn't wear it often when he was here in the room, he often took it off and put it somewhere safe. He recalled time he could not locate it.

Quote:
"What do you mean you can't find it?" The boil had questioned, wiping his hands into a dish rag as he rounded the corner from the kitchen where he was cooking dinner to look into the room where the commotion was. There he had found the demon throwing his half of the room apart which angered the monster as the mess was being made. He was going to reprimand the demon when he saw the frantic expression in his eyes searching for something, the clench in his jaw, and the tenseness in his shoulders. "Dude. Dude! Calm down!" Damien suggested, abandoning his towel as he whirled the larger boil around to plant firm hands on his shoulders, staring directly into his eyes that flashed their solid colors before returning their sunburst set.

"I-it's not here. It's not where I leave it. It's not - Damien, it's not where it should be. I-I haven't touched it and I hadn't left since-"

"Since you left to run back to your place to grab a few things. Could it be back there?"

Uru shook his head. "The only one that is there is the other half of my dad's scarf. I keep one there and one here."

"Alright, listen. I'm gonna finish dinner, we're gonna eat, and then we'll go look for it, alright?"

The boil nodded tentatively, defeated and reluctant.


He was a slob, but he owed a lot of his changes to the monster. That much he knew. Maybe Damien knows it, too, but it wasn't really a matter he actually focused on it. Uru stood beside the side of the bed where there was a small tray that was labelled
URUBUTT'S SCARF PLACE
DO NOT TOUCH