Armand the Pizza Man

Brief Title:
Armand the Pizza Man

Characters:
Armand, Mike (Phantasm), Wade Shaw

Scene Runner/Watcher:

IC Date:
10/21/12

Location:
Mike and Wade's apartment - Tate Apt Building

Summary:
Armand makes pizza while Mike chases Wade out of the apartment.

Social or Plot:

TS:
Yes

Log:
-----==[ 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.



==============================================================================


As the afternoon sun shines through the window and upon the music equipment, a lengthy shadow stretches across the apartment. This goes unnoticed as the only person in the apartment is occupying one of the three futons set up for sleeping. Under the tangle of blanket, there's a small mop of blond hair peeking out from underneath, grumbling as the light dares cast upon his area of the apartment. "NGH" The mass of blanket shifts violently as the hair turns, facing the wall. Sleep- must- fff-

The door to the studio apartment opens, the door knob banging upon the bumper attached to the wall as a much more awake Mike stoops down to pick up some bags and steps in. In each hand he has a mass of plastic handles accounting for three bags apiece, leading to much potential to what is being brought into the humble abode. The knitcapped man's head turns, looking to the guy behind him. "Can you get the key out of the door?" Request given he makes his way into the kitchen area.

This is odd, it is still odd, but Armand has the comfort of toting his own plastic bags in addition to his leather messenger bag and his golden backpack and he has about four bags total...maybe 5 if the little one counts. He's quiet however, moving to get the key out of the door and slipping in after Mike, turning to shut the door with his back side as he looks around once more. "I...tink my theory about the both of you possibly being some hybrid species of vampire is still reigning supreme." The soft French accent goes here as the door is locked, key set down on a flat surface, and extra grocery bags brought to the kitchen area. The little baker wears his hair braided back in a singular braid and pulled back to hang down his back and a simple pair of jeans + dark green hoodie completes his outfit for the day, dark green converse sneakers on his feet.

Mike lifts up the bags and sets them on the counter with a thunk of some of the plastic containers inside triggering a groan from the living area. "Hybrid vampire?" Mike repeats, looking to Armand for a moment before he looks over to where the key is set down. Stepping over, he picks it up and hooks the keyring onto a hook nearby, "How's that theory go?"

"NGGH!" Wade murmurs in protest to the auditory intrusions teaming up with the light relatedones in their conspiracy to knock him out of his martahon laziness. The grumpy lump rolls around once more.

Armand gestures vaguely towards where Wade is lumped up. "He is...Prince, well Count Dracula's great, great, great, great....great, great, grate...great, great...great...and some more greats, Grand Nephew on his ah...oh yes, oui, his mother's side." He shrugs helplessly and then carefully sets bags of products on the floor in the kitchen and carefully slips a cleaning cloth from one of his bags and its a habit for him really as he spritzes the towel with some type of spritzy hand sanitizer and as he unpacks a bottle of olive oil and some other bottle he wipes the bottle off with the towel before setting it on the counter. "And you, well...you are more like the British vampires, but more than likely eh, oui more than like a eunuch, after all they are always humping tings."

At the mention of Eunuch, an eye under the blanket opens before squinting shut. The rolling lump stops doing such and instead starts shaking as laughter emits from the futon.

Mike is not quite sharing of the laughter as he looks at Armand oddly. "Maybe I should have asked what led you to that instead of how the th-" He pauses, moving back into the kitchen to pull out the milk and juice from the bags. "Eunuch?" He shakes his head, moving towards the fridge, "I don't sound like a Castrato."

Armand's eyebrow raises as he peers towards the lump as he sighs softly as he peers at a spray container of Pam and then eyes the lump and then he looks back to the spray container of Pam as he sets it to the side. "Hm? Oh...non, non, you do not sound like a high tenor soprano choir boy, pardon...Monsieur, I did not mean to offend." He worries his bottom lip. "Where..." There's a long pause. "I have purchased some onions, where are you wanting your fresh vegetables?"

"I'm also Irish, not British." Mike adds in, giving a small smile as he starts to open the fridge door, "There's a bin on the bottom of the fr-" The fridge door slams shut and Mike spins round, glaring off to the area of the futons, "GODDAMMIT WADE NOT ON THE BEER!"

There is a guffaw of loud laughter as Wade loses it, rolling off of the futon as he's in hysterics. Blanket rolling off, the shortest musician of the two is on the floor in his briefs, hair twisted about in an obvious case of bed head. "Y-y-" He stops trying to talk as the laughter keeps him from even forming a word.

"Well, oui...but I was making the saying from the ting with the British shows. There's alawys humping and tings..." Armand is going to give up there before he idly scratches his cheek and tilts his head to the side as he peers around Mike to see into the fridge. "Is another picture?"

Wade recovers from his hysterics a bit as he confirms Armand's question, "And what a picture!" He starts shifting to stand up, still guffawing as he shakes his head, "God, where the hell do they come up with this shit?" Mike steps away from the closed fridge to fully position his glare to where the blonde may experience the daggers much better. "Could you at least clean it up some? Christ!"

Armand's eyebrows raise as he quietly continues to put up food, worrying his bottom lip and taking a deep breath. "I was considering making ahh...perhaps somethin' of a deep dish pizza? It is like pie, I tink I could manage it."

Being reminded of the Armand, Mike turns around looking over to the newest resident, "Uh yeah. That'd be great." He steps back over to the fridge, opening the door and looking to the picture once more, grimacing. "What the hell are you Googling to get this?" He mutters, reaching in to grab the print out taped to his beer. "Should have run out by now." Crumpling up the paper, he tosses it into the trash can before going to grab the milk.

"Pizza sounds great." Wade replies, picking up on the offer to make food while he searches for his pants, "Not going to knock any type of cooking going on in there that doesn't involve the microwave."

"You do know if your names are googled and such, many tings come up if the safe search is off. Fanatics have good imaginations, and sometimes there are whips." The baker shrugs helplessly as he moves to set aside the things he'll need to do a pie/pizza/dinner combo and her chuckles softly to himself. "I tink once there was somethin' of Wade in a hot pink...how do you call it..." He frowns. "Ahh, oui, a hot pink thong and he wore bunny ears." He may be lying, he may not...but it is the internet.

Whips..." Wade murmurs, cracking an evil smile as he pulls on his pants. He starts to walk over to his laptop, not seemingly caring about the comment about hot pink thongs or bunny ears.

Milk and Orange Juice in hand, Mike hooks a toe under the fridge door, tugging it open long enough to put the jugs in. Not even waiting for it to close, he grabs a 2 liter of soda and promptly puts that in as well. "Armand, please don't help him."

Armand's eyebrow quirks once more as he carefully selects vegetables and begins the process of chopping things up and putting them in a bowl in between stocking his baking supplies neatly on a shelf so he's bustling back and forth and forth and back at this point. "Did you need a different dessert? Or will the pizza be okay and enough?"

Snatching up a shirt midway to the laptop, Wade starts tugging on a shirt, "We'll have a Baked Alaska, followed by some double chocolate brownies, followed by some homemade ice cream..."

Mike shakes his head as he works on putting up what's left of the groceries, putting up another box of cereal into one cabinet, "Just make what you want, Armand. We're not picky. Pizza's enough." He glances towards Wade, "And considering he spends most of his day sitting in a chair or sleeping nowadays, he doesn't need the desert."

"Perhaps brownies tomorrow, oui. I didn't get ah...the tings for ice cream..." Armand worries his bottom lip before nodding and continuing the process of preparing the pizza things, taking a deep breath. "Well eventually you'll be able to roll him about."

Mike glances towards his other room mate, "Speaking of which... Wade? Could you get the ice cream stuff since you asked for it?"

"Hell if I know what is used to make ice cream."

"Then just get the pre-made stuff!"

The blonde looks over towards the kitchen and gets up from his laptop, straightening his shirt. "The things I do for sweets." He mutters, grabbing his key and heading out.

Armand watches Wade's exit with a tilt of his head and his brow furrows before he bites his bottom lip and gives a tiny nod. "I..." He trails off. "I am used to dorms and...borrowed rooms or being alone, this is...different."

Mike watches the door shut behind Wade before he looks towards Armand, "It's different than a dorm?" He glances towards the studio area, and then back to the baker, "Kind of figured this would be how it'd go." Turning over to the oven, he crouches down to pull out an old cast iron pan from the bottom drawer and sets it on the stove with a bit of a clang, "So how's it different?"

"Because...at home, there was hiding, at my first school...th-the place I had to leave first, the dorms there was the inspections and cleaning and order and at my last school there was the inspections and such..." Armand does sound a tad confused before he quickly shakes his head. "Even in the hotel, I found myself folding tings up in neat piles."

The last part causes for the rocker to blink, "What kind of hotel makes you fold up your stuff?" He shakes his head, turning to the fridge to pull out some ground beef, "When we were touring and we got to stay in a building, we didn't make any beds, or fold anything. We just passed out, woke up and left."

"It didn't make me fold it up, I just...got used to doing it." Armand admits as he works on making the dough for the pizza as he sighs and chuckles softly. "That does sound like the rockstar lifestyle."

"It was." Mike nods, plopping the package on one of the burners before reaching over to a drawer to pull out a knife, "Rod, Jack, Wade, and I had a blast when we were touring. But I think anyone would do that at a hotel. Kind of comes with paying for the room." He pokes a hole into the plastic wrap before ripping it open.

Armand smiles a bit and rolls up his sleeves to wash his hands before drying them and moving to knead his dough with a distant expression. "Did you go many places? I am meaning..traveling, only in the US or did you were going other places?"

Greysong didn't make it to the European side of the tour." Mike replies, shaking his head as he tosses the beef into the pan and carries the package over to the trashcan, "I did for the solo stuff." He moves over to another drawer to grab a rather discolored looking, old spatula, "Except for this current one. Touring's been postponed until things can get figured out."

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.

Armand listens intently as he rummages around for a pie pan, one of the ones he brought with him and he worries his bottom lip. "This will be different..." He murmurs before working on creating a pie crust for the pizza experiment. "Then you enjoy it, oui? The performing?" He tilts his head to the side.

Mike nods, "Yeah, it's a good job. Beats working in a convenience store." He turns on the burner, starting to brown the meat, "Turns out I have a knack for it which is nice too. Performing is fun. Creating the music is great. But the best part was traveling with my friends. It's one big road trip." The meat flips with each swipe of the spatula edge, occasionaly the dance is disrupted by the chop of utensil, cutting a hunk in half, "But, it is work."

Armand mmhms softly and he hesitates before offering. "Mon...Maman, my mother...she was a ballerina." He clears his throat. "She ah, she liked to perform too, I am thinking."

The meat sizzles as Mike nods quietly, "Quite possible... It's a lot of work, but when it's time to perform, it doesn't matter your other faults, just how well you do what you're doing in that moment." He grows quiet again, working to turn the red of the meat to the brown of it's cooked form.

Armand mmhms softly. "I enjoy...baking." A pause. "And reading history but performing is something I think people are good at doing or they aren't. I've had to perform but not by choice."

"Well, it's a good thing you found a job where you can do what you enjoy then." Mike returns, giving a small nod as the ground meat continues its slow churning transformation, "Not everyone gets to do that." The spatula stops, "So, are you thinking about do something about the history part?"

Armand smiles weekly as he turns to put the pie crust in the oven so it can bake a bit and set, then he's pulling out cheese to cut into strips. "I don't know, it would seem my own history keeps me from progressing further than sad stories but I will always be watching and reading, oui."

The spatula starts moving, slowly. "All I can say to that is keep at it. And don't let what happened to you keep you from doing what you want to do." He cracks a slight smile, "So long as what you want to do is legal."

Armand chuckles and shakes his head. "The shitty thing is, I seem to draw the people who do the illegal tings to me, I just be walking by and they drop out of the sky." He cuts an onion in half.

"Then you'll have to play it safe." Mike replies, churning the meat. "If a big and bad shows up, keep your distance." He moves the pan to a non-active burner before setting the spatula on the side. "If you can't do that, do what you can to not piss them off without compromising yourself." He moves over towards the counter, "And for christ's sake, don't go grocery shopping for them. That's going to somehow going to make you look like you're buddy buddy with them."

Armand laughs softly, he actually laughs and rolls his eyes. "I try to help those I can help...in whatever way that I can. I cannot imagine not...so it is hard sometimes, but I am getting better at this." He hesitates. "Do you like lots of cheese on your pizzas?"

The more cheese the better." Mike replies, pulling out an old looking strainer and setting it in the sink. He turns towards the stove, "I got some ground beef to add to it." Grabbing the pan, he starts to empty the contents into the strainer.

"Oh good, I was tinking I would have to fall to my knees to beg to use some." Armand drawls softly before clearing his throat and getting to work applying cheese, onions...cheese...bell peppers...cheese and such to the deep...deep dish pizza crust after he removes it from the oven. "Alright, time to add the meat and all that."

"So long as no one's name on it and it's in the fridge or cabinet, it's open game to use." Shaking the strainer, a greasey stream falls to the drain below before Mike swings the strainer over towards Armand, "Have at it. What we don't use today we can freeze for something later."

Armand takes the meat and is putting the finishing touches on the pizza, putting it in the oven to cook before he starts tidying up. "When Wade returns, we shall put ice cream on his slice of pizza..." He checks his watch and frowns. "Hmm, an hour before the iron chef is to be coming on...so much to do." See, its good to have a live-in...baker.

Mike waves over to the TV. "Go wild with the TV tonight. I'm not going to hear it this time around." He chuckles. Ah, inside jokes.

Fadey Mc Fade Fade.

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