2011 07 10 Yes And No

Log Title:
2011 07 10 Yes and No

Mike (Phantasm), Richenda Gray

IC Date:
10 July 2011

Chelsea - Mike's Apartment

Brief Log Summary:
Richenda comes to the Tate Apt Bldg to confirm a suspicion from Mike


There is no TS in this log:


-==[ Tate Apt Bldg - New York ]==---------

The Tate is a grandiose reflection of the wide variety of resident types in artistic Chelsea. Boasting of a over forty different apartments, so long as it's a studio, 1 bedroom, or 2 bedroom layout. With the varying floor plans, the price range of the apartments within range from low to mid income pricing. —- In lieu of the typical marble decor, the lobby of this building offers limestone floors and bamboo trees and stone pathways which lead to the windowed elevator that overlooks a private courtyard reserved exclusively for residents and guests. On staff is the live-in manager/building owner and the night time doorman, also known as the owner's son.


Richenda Gray

Obvious Exits:

[MA] - Mike's Apt - Tate Apt Bldg - N [O] - Chelsea - New York

So many apartments, so little time. And the doorman ain't talking. Looks like Chenda's only solution is to start knocking on doors or trust to luck. She sighs irritably and turns away from the desk, heading for the elevator.

Alas, when someone who is not a resident, nor known to be a guest comes wandering in asking for the apartment number of one of the residents just what on earth is a doorman to do? Privacy privacy privacy! Giving a frown he gets up from his desk area that has a lovely view of the glass front that grants entrance into the building and turns, looking towards the moving away Richenda. "Hold on there! Does he even know you're coming?!"

There is the ding of an elevator door as one car reaches the lobby area, doors parting way to allow for one occupant to step out, glancing over to Richenda curiously before continuing on his way out.

"Yes!" Richenda snaps back over her shoulder, glancing reflexively at the elevator as it opens and, if she doesn't recognize the passenger, darting inside before the door can close.

With the reply the doorman frowns before stepping back. His attention shifts over to the former passenger of the elevator before he moves to the main door to hold it open for him.

The elevator doors close without incident, removing the view of the lobby area but not at all obscuring the view of the courtyard that is visible from the three glass walls that make up the cab. There is a bit of a soft sound of lyric-less music wafting in the small room as it waits for the passenger to make her floor selection.

Chenda punches the button for the first floor, and is careful not to breathe a sigh of relief before the elevator gets there. So much for the easy way. Looks like it's canvassing the building for her.

With the press of the button, there is a slow rise of the cab, liftinging her teasingly midway up one of the trees in the courtyard before coming to a stop. The music of the elevator provides for a peaceful and relaxed contrast to what Richenda may be feeling at the moment. Doo de doo… doodley doo… doo de-ding!

The cab comes to a halt, pausing for a few moments before they part open, revealing a rather content looking blonde wearing sunglasses, a tank top, and jeans. He is also not looking at the elevator doors but rather down the hallway, as he gives a devilish grin, "Enjoy the picture!" He starts to step in without looking, starting to snicker.

Elevator music is one of the most insidious forces in the world. Sometimes it even puts you in a better mood. This isn't one of those times, especially since Chenda gets an unpleasant surprise passenger at the end of the elevator ride. And it looks like that someone has just been papparrazo-ing!

Except he looks familiar. In fact, she's seen his face on a web page next to that of the man she's looking for. She stays behind him, making sure she's out of his way, and slips through the door once he's inside the elevator. Talk about a lucky break! And it looks like there's an open door at the end of the hall! Luckier yet!

As the man settles into the elevator he reaches over to the button, perhaps reaching over a bit longer than needed to peer at the departing woman's figure before the doors close. Aww, buzzkill.

The aformentioned door may be opened but it's in the process of closing right now.

Chenda is just quick enough to get there and knock /just/ before it closes. Considering her relations with Mike right now, she's careful not to speak before the door opens… presuming it does.

The door pauses in its closing. There's a slight shift as something presses against the door as the pale blue eyes of the person on the other side glances through the gap. Recognizing the figure, the door opens more, showing Mike in less than presentable wear, pants and that's about it. The hair looks a bit wild, the shoulder length locks being a bit more unruly having been freed from the confines of the knit cap that typically hides it. A brow arches as he looks to the woman, "Chenda?"

-==[ Mike's Apt - Tate Apt Bldg - New York ]==-----—-

This studio apartment is quite simple. To the right of the entryway is the kitchen and bathroom, to the left a closet and a washer/dryer. Straight ahead, the Living/Dining Room combo. Walk to there and there's a sleeping alcove to the right. As far as furniture there are five notable pieces of furniture. Two futons in the alcove, two more futons in the living /dining room area, and a rather beaten, and likely salvaged from a street corner on trash day, coffee table. Resting on the table is an old TV and converter box.

It is unsure to what is sadder. The minimalism of the furniture, or that four guys pooled their money for this and this is all they did. But factoring the amount of sound proof paneling around the place along with the drumset, guitars, keyboard, recorder, and practice drum pads scattered about there's likely a good reason why the furniture count stopped where it did. With just two people sharing the apartment now, this quasi-two room, quasi-kitchen, one bathroom apartment seems quite spacious. Although, the occupants would prefer it much more if the other two former occupants were still there.


Obvious Exits:

[O] - Tate Apt Bldg - New York

"Well, I ain't the Avon Lady," Chenda quips, giving a little fingertip wave and her best smile. With her faded, flare-leg jeans, black tanktop, and purple hoodie, she couldn't even come close. "Can we talk?"

Mike looks at Chenda for a few more moments quietly, hand resting on the edge of the door before they tighten for a moment, "Uh sure." He gives a tap of the door to allow for it to swing open as he starts moving into the kitchen area, "Come in and close the door." Walking past a crumpled up piece of computer paper on the counter and a water glass, he grabs a white-capped orange bottle and sticks it in one of the cabinets.

Chenda's smile starts to fray a bit into pensiveness by the time Mike speaks again. But he said the right words, and it rekindles. "Thanks." And in she goes, and closed the door is, those quick eyes sweeping the apartment. "Cool. Bandspace," she comments sincerely. Granted, compared to what she's paying for now, this much space might be luxury. "Um, okay… I'm sorry we got off on the wrong foot, and I'm sorry I didn't get your shirt back to you before now, though if you'd let me buy you a shirt that time it wouldn't have been such a biggie, and I'm sorry… about a lot of things, actually." It all comes out in a rush, rather like an auctioneer's spiel.

The cabinet door pabts shut as the musician turns to look towards Chenda, head tilting at the ramble. "I'm not sure what you think you have to apologize for." He glances towards the fridge consideringly before looking back to Chenda. "Want a drink?"

Chenda pauses and blushes. "I treated you like a bad English butler, and I could've gotten you killed last time we met," she says at last. "Some stuff finally came together after what happened at the mall." She tilts her head at the offer. "Got a Coke?"

Mike blinks before glancing in the fridge, forgoing some beer bottles with papers taped onto them to bend down to grab out a 2 liter that is very clearly labeled 'WADE' on it before moving away from the appliance. "Wow. Not just a bad butler, a bad ENGLISH butler." He opens another cabinet to pull out a glass. "So, what stuff?"

"At the risk of furthering stereotypes, yes." Chenda rubs the bridge of her nose and leans on the counter, as if all this talking is tiring. "Before I get into that, I do need to know one thing for sure. Are you Phantasm?"

Mike moves towards the fridge, opening up the freezer to grab some ice from the bin, chucking a few pieces into the glass. His lips set into a frown as he closes the door and turns back to the 2 liter. "Yes and No."

"Yes and no… sounds like this could get complicated," Chenda murmurs. "How does that work?" She settles onto the edge of the coffee table, careful not to sit on anything that isn't part of the coffee table.

Mike pours out the soda before putting the bottle back in the fridge. "It could be very complicated," The musician agrees. He pauses to press a hand against the fridge door, making sure it closes all the way before he walks out of the kitchen with Richenda's drink, glancing into the room to locate Richenda upon the coffee table. "Futons are more comfortable." He says, tilting a head in turn to indicate the two in the living area that are still set in the sofa setup as opposed to the two in the alcove still set as beds. He holds out the glass towards Richenda.

"Oh… sorry. I thought it'd be rude to sit on somebody's bed," Chenda replies, accepting the glass and relocating to the futon-sofa. She gives a squeak as she sits down, sinking further into the thing than she'd intended.

Mike's frown deepens for a moment before he shakes his head. "Those two don't get used as beds anymore so you're good." That said, he sits on the other side of the sofa that Chenda selected, arm resting on the arm rest side as he slumps back. "There's only two of us living here so there's no point sleeping in each one anyways."

"Oh… I'm sorry to bring up bad memories," Chenda murmurs, recalling Greysong from the web.

Mike gives a slight shrug as he glances over to the TV, which is not on, "Wade's probably got it worse. I wasn't there when it happened." He sighs, before looking over to Chenda, "So, what stuff?"

Chenda sighs. "Dragging you along into the mall when Ares and that spirit were fighting, more than anything, and treating you like the best friend of some rock star…" She manages a slight, wry smile. "Now /there's/ irony, for sure."

"Ah." Mike's head tilts a bit, "Ah." He shakes his head, "When you said there was stuff that came together after the mall, I thought you meant you came across new information."

"Well, that was part of it. When I remembered getting your autograph at the mall, I did some webcrawling," Chenda says. "And I remembered some of the things Phantasm said when we fought those kidnappers, and what happened after."

"So basically you got curious and googled me." Mike summarizes, "Well, that explains where you got my address." He gives a bit of a chuckle, "Makes it easy on the search engines with us not even moving all this time."

"Hey, it's not like it was easy!" Chenda protests, almost playfully. "The only name I knew was yours, from the bookstore. The rest was a complete blank. And I think the computer tried to bite me, too…"

"Dangerous things those computers," Mike deadpans, He gives a bit of a nod, "I kind of figured you'd have put things together when Ares started talking about my other form."

"More from Susan Richards. Honestly, I don't remember much of what Ares said," Chenda replies, blushing. "But she just filled in something I was already wondering about. So… what do you mean when you say you /are/ and /aren't/ Phantasm?"

Mike chuckles, form relaxing a bit more. "Stay quiet for a little bit," He instructs as he closes his eyes, taking a deep breath before allowing for his arms to just fall to his sides before stilling.

"O… /okay/," Chenda replies, the second a whisper. And she pensively watches him, setting her well-sipped glass on the floor out of the way.

It takes a couple of minutes of Mike remaining still and for the two being quiet before something purplish black can be seen hoping from the shadow of the other futon. The Raven tilts his head to the side before lifting the wing in a wave, eerily absent of any sound.

Chenda's looking so hard at Mike that it's a second before she realizes someone's waving at her. She starts, then looks over at the Raven. "Phantasm!" she whispers. "But…" Speechless, she gestures confusedly at Mike.

As Chenda whispers, the bird holds the wing in a shushing manner before indicating back towards Mike whose eyes are still closed, but the expression is not one of someone sleeping but concentrating. The raven shifts, taking the form of the hooded Mike from earlier with the shadows of the hood obscuring all but the lips as he gives a half smile.

Understanding begins to dawn as Chenda looks between Mike and the spectral form in the shadow of the futon. She very, very slowly and carefully rises from the so-futon, moving to join the spectre. "So you're a… a ghost? From Mike's mind?" she asks, wide-eyed with amazement and curiosity.

With the shifting of the futon, the figure vanishes abruptly as Mike opens his eyes. He shakes his head, straightening himself, "It's much easier to do when I'm sleeping. Practically a given." Eyes look over to Chenda, "Not quite a ghost. I kind of went with Phantasm because that's the best way to describe it. An illusion."

"Oh…" Chenda murmurs, her eyes widening in horror as something else springing to mind. "No wonder you didn't want to go to the mall that day! Gods, Mike, I'm so sorry."

"Yeah," Mike admits, "I'd rather things that could easily kill me attack Phantasm rather than me, that's true." He leans back, glancing over to Chenda, giving a slight smile, "But, I'm not a stranger to fighting on my own, and considering that you weren't exactly counting on me being Phantasm at the time you dragged me over, so I don't think that really goes with the whole things to be sorry for bit."

"Well, I won't be dragging you into anything like that again, so I guess if you're okay with it, things are jake." Chenda slowly straigtens from her slightly hunched, furtive posture. It's not necessary now that she's not whispering to Phantasm. Casually settling her jeans on a more even keel, she returns to the futon, perching on the edge of it this time and turning towards Mike. "So, you fight crime in your sleep?" she asks, smiling. This is much more like the Chenda Mike should remember.

Mike glances over towards Chenda, smirking slightly, "More like playing neighborhood watch. Beats staring at the apartment wall all night and scaring the shit out of Wade." He pauses before glancing over to Chenda, "He, doesn't know about this. I'd rather he not know about it as long as it's possible."

"Is he the blonde guy who was yelling about pictures earlier?" Chenda asks, wanting to be sure.

Mike's jaw clenches before he gives a smile. "Probably." He gets up, moving towards the kitchen, "He's a bit of a prankster."

"And a bit of a booty-scoper," Chenda adds, chuckling. "Next time I'll have to stop and introduce myself so he has a name and face to attach to it."

Mike's brow raises at the addition before grabbing the crumpled up printout to toss it into the kitchen trash, "Yeah, he has a tendency of getting into trouble with that. I'm sure he'd have devoted just as much time to the front if you were facing that way when you met him."

"I'd wondered," Chenda replies, grinning and shaking her head. Her eyes stray to Mike's back, then up and down. "I guess I can see the appeal of that kind of people watching…"

With Mike's back turned to her, he's not exactly registering her glance as he goes to the fridge, opening the door and reaching in to retrieve something. There's the sound of rattling paper and something adhesive being plucked off. "If he wasn't heading out I'm sure he'd have followed it up with something else. Which brings to how he gets in trouble. For safety's sake, do you have a boyfriend?"

"Boyfriend? No, but I can fake it," Chenda replies. "Shall I have a charming, artistic type named Guido on my leash?" she asks, leaning forward with an impishly playful smile.

"I wasn't referring to your safety." Mike corrects, stepping back from the fridge as he crumples up yet another printout, tossing it towards the trash as he steps out, not noticing it bouncing out, "Biggest hazard when it comes to him is when the girl fails to mention she has a boyfriend. Or that he's right in the bar or club."

And Bashful Chenda is back. "Oh. I guess he's safe, then. And I'm not much of a clubber. Clubbing requires money." She glances puzzledly at Mike. "Is all that stuff you're throwing away what Wade was talking about?"

"Yeah." Mike replies, moving back towards the futon, "It's nothing."

"Well, if you say so…" Chenda stands and stretches. And she waits until he sits down before she darts over to scoop up the one that bounced out of the trash can!

As Mike sinks into the cushions and Chenda starts darting, "Chri-" He starts to get up but the movement from the futon cushion is hindered by the furniture itself. Behold the power of cheap furniture! Grumbling, he grabs at the arm of the sofa to pull himself up to his feet. "Hey wait a minute!"

The girl's quick! Chenda snatches up the lopsides pseudo-ball of paper. "Too late, music man!" she teases, starting to unwad it.

What Chenda finds as she unfolds it is a printout with the url text displayed at the bottom signaling this is from a fan art website's band category. However it isn't a drawing but a blatantly photoshopped combination of Mike from the album art of his most recent album, Wade from the album art of the greysong album, and the outline of a heart encircling the two with some very poorly chosen font with the text 'bromance' in all caps but with the B scribbled out.

Mike gives a grimace as he brings a palm towards the front of his face, hiding away one of his eyes. "I'm going to kill Wade."

"Aw, how cute. Your fans read stuff into your friendship," Chenda says, posing like a game-show hostess with the pic, as if she's just turned it around on a big sign. Big smile!

Mike looks to the displayed photo and gives a small, forced smile. "Ha ha. Now put it in the trash."

Chenda holds the pic up cheerleader-style. "M - I - K - E! He's the one they wanna see! Mikey! Mikey! Yaaaaaay, Mikey!" And she pivots on one foot, turning completely around as she wads up the pic and plunks it perfectly into the trash can. And just like that, she's back on the futon.

With the offending item in the trash and the odd display in disposing of it, Mike watches as Chenda makes her way back, sinking back down to the futon. "You are the weirdest chick I've met outside of a scheduled appearancee."

"Um, you fight crime in your sleep? Pot, kettle?" Chenda reminds him teasingly. "Well, 'cept for the whole chick thing."

"As I said, It beats staring at the inside of the apartment wall for 8 straight hours." Mike reminds matter of factly. He slumps back, "Oh could you do me a favor?"

"Depends," Chenda replies, smirking. "Will you apologize for calling me weird?"

"Sure." Mike replies, "I take it back. You're bizzare."

"Grew up in a circus, remember? /Normal/ is purely a state of what you're used to," Chenda ripostes. "Granted, there /was/ a bazaar there in some towns. So… what's the favor?"

Mike hmmphs, glancing aside as he gives a small smile. It fades as he looks back to Chenda, "Don't call me 'Mikey'."

"No more Mikey." Chenda digests this with a nod and an impish smile. "So, what do I call you? Mikester? Mike-lad?" She leans close, dark eyes twinkling. "Michael?" she asks in a sultry whisper.

With the change in tone, Mike's attention shifts towards the close proximity of other person. He remains leaned back, considering the closed distance before replying. "Just, not Mikey." He pauses for a bit, "Or Drago, when I'm not working."

"No Mikey, no Drago anywhere but at work. Got it." Chenda draws back a little and smiles. "Speaking of which, any local shows in the near future?"

Mike nods, then shakes his head. "Nothing tour date wise. I'm working on the next album." With the added distance, Mike adjusts his posture, sitting up a bit more, jaw tightening for a few moments before he smiles, "But, you never know, maybe a charity gig or two. Or if someone needs an act for a nearby music festival and for some reason decides on me."

"I'll let you know if I see something. It seems like I'm all over New York these days," Chenda promises. And looks thoughtful. "Oh, one thing… Wade looked like he was going out to have a good time. Why weren't you going with him? You looked pretty stressed when you opened the door," she asks, cocking her head curiously.

At the question, Mike shakes his head, "No, not stressed. Just tired. "About once a week I take medicine that basically knocks me out for the whole night and I'm guessing to Wade that makes for a very boring Sunday night." " He crosses his bare arms across his chest as he tilts his chin towards Chenda, "You came right before I was about to take them."

"Oh… Oh!" Chenda's eyes widen. "I'm keeping you up, then! I'm so sorry." She rises from the futon again. "I really should get going, anyway…"

"Musician, remember?" Mike replies, smile strengthening as he starts to get up. "It's not exactly an 8 to 5 thing." He stretches his arms, not hiding the yawn this time as he opens his mouth wide. One hand swings over at the tail end of the yawn to cover the mouth as an after thought, "Besides you saved me the time of figuring out how much you figured out."

"Yeah… but I'd rather not do that at the expense of you getting your sleep," Chenda replies. "And I'm seeing the proof that you need it right now." She hesitates, then leans in and gives him a hug while his arms are still mostly out. "Rest up, huh? We can talk at the Grind sometime."

Mike's arms pause as he finds a Chenda attachment for his torso before they lower back down again, one resting upon Chenda's back as the other lays to the side. "Night." The arm lifts as he pulls away, moving towards the door to let her out.

"Oh, let me know if you ever need some anti-groupie arm candy at a show, 'kay?" Chenda asks as she draws back, grinning. The expression softens into something more comradely very quickly. "Good night… sleep tight," she says, stepping out the door, making sure to shut it behind her.

She glances back at it once she's out in the hall. "Wish I had a 'Do Not Disturb' sign right about now. I guess the doorman'll have to do… crap, he's still down there." Sighing, she strolls in the direction of the elevator. "I guess I'll have to whip up a good story on the way down."


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