Brief Title:
OMG Who did your nails
Characters:
Armand, Phantasm
Scene Runner/Watcher:
IC Date:
11/05/12
Location:
Mike's Apt - Tate Apts - Chelsea
Summary:
A still groggy from the medicine Mike wakes up to find his nails painted while he was asleep. He has odd roommates.
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.
Okay, so when you have a room mate who sleeps like the living dead...what do you do? Well you set up your mani-pedi set and take time to give french manicures to all available nails on the toes and hands as they sleep. So glossy black nails with white nails, an odd yet trendy effect. Really. Armand also takes time to get some food cooked up, some sort of jumbalya, all warm and kept warm on the stove, fluffy bread as an accompaniment and extra rice just in case its needed. At the moment however, he's carefully arranging food on individual plates and writing little stick notes to stick to the plates themselves on who's food is who's. He wears a pair of dark blue cargo pants, rolled down on his hips and a fitted black tank top that only reaches about his midriff, hair pulled back in a loose ponytail.
It is uncertain just what it is that helps Mike out of the drug induced stupor his Sunday night medicine put him through. It likely was not the manicure as Mike's nails have indeed gotten much darker in most areas. Perhaps it's the smell of food or perhaps it is the laughter from a Wade departing from the apartment. Either way, the musician's eyes open up slowly as he stares at the ceiling. "Nggh." In morning grunt, this likely means "GOOD MORNING EVERYONE! HOW IS EVERYONE ON THIS BLISSFUL MORNING?! I SLEPT QUITE A LOT AND AM BEING GREETED BY WONDEROUS SMELLS AS I JOIN THE LAND OF THE WAKING. SURELY I MUST HAVE DIED IN MY SLEEP AND AM NOW IN HEAVEN."
Or he's just waking up and hasn't quite gotten fully coherent yet.
Armand eyes the clock before he looks towards where Mike is sleeping and he takes a deep breath before moving to pour a glass of orange juice which he brings over towards Mike, peering over him curiously and blinking before holding the glass above him.
With the presence of someone standing over him, Mike jerks up, arm raising before it halts. He blinks, eyeing Armand curiously before he starts to sit up fully, not noticing the nails just yet as his bare feet are still on the futon and not on the cold floor. "-morning."
Armand offers the juice again. "Bon-ah, good morning." Is the soft greeting, a hint of concern in the young man's eyes as he takes a deep breath. "I am making the breakfast over there...and Wade, he has left."
Mike squints at the juice before reaching over to take it, "Thanks." He grows quiet as he takes a sip, allowing Armand to fill him in on the state of the apartment. The glass lowers, "Wade left?" He shakes his head, "Guess I really slept in today." Resting his free hand down on the futon, he supports his weight a little as he spins himself 90 degrees, positioning his feet upon the floor, which clues in Mike to the lack of socks. He glances down at them, expression a little confused, "...What the hell happened last night? I don't remember having that done."
Armand's mouth opens and then closes as he looks uber innocent, eyes widening as he clears his throat, hair fading to a light shade of brown as he stands there for a moment. "Drink your just, ahh...yes, is good for you! Good for brain and waking up and...I will go and um, make the coffee!" He scurries back over to the kitchen area.
The juice is sipped at again with Armand's instructions as Mike continues looking at his feet, befuddled. Shaking his head, he sets the glass down carefully before he starts to reach for the socks that were discarded nearby, pausing as he looks to his fingers, "Bleedin' hell it's on th' fingers."
Armand mmhms softly as he puts the coffee on and coughs softly. "Perhaps you were sleep walking and you made your way to a nail salon?" It is a suggestion, really!
"And you and Wade just let me go over there?" Mike response skeptically, looking over to Armand before shaking his head, "N- Ok, Wade probably would but YOU would just let me go over there?" He goes back tugging on his socks before grabbing the juice glass again.
Armand sighs and shakes his head. "Non." A pause. "But I don't tink they would've done your nails at the salon if you were sleeping...I don't see where you would keep the money." He finds a fork so he can bring the plate of cajuny goodness over to Mike where he sits. "Here, eating, your brain is groggy I tink...you sleep very hard."
Mike finishes off the juice in the glass before he shakes his head, "Yeah, it can do that. Takes time to wear off." He sets the emptied container back on the floor before he starts to get up, think better of it, and sit back down. "Just a once a week thing though."
"That's very good. The only once a week thing. It worries me sometimes. I tink if there if a fire, how would I carry you." Armand shakes his head and takes a deep breath as he gets his own plate of food, holding the plate out again to Mike.
Grab under the armpits and just drag." Mike replies, taking the plate and fork offered to him. "I don't weigh THAT much." He looks at the food for a bit. "This doesn't seem like a dish that would go with orange juice."
Armand chuckles softly and shakes his head. "I would just use my hair." He does not elaborate there as he shakes his head. "The Orange just was just to get you something of substance when you woke up. You need a tea or coffee with the food actually."
Mike glances to the food and then to the empty glass beside him. "Coffee then," He decides, readying the fork to dig in, "Thanks for breakfast."
Armand nods and moves to shovel a fork of food into his mouth as he's setting his plate down so he can pour cups of the freshly brewed coffee, chewing and arching an eyebrow, swallowing. "How do you take it?"
"Black." Mike replies, the response is given without hesitation between scoops of food. As he chews one mouthful, he looks towards the kitchen area where Armand is. "So, what's the deal with the hair again? Other than the color of the hair?"
Mug of black coffee is brought over to sit by Mike as he laughs softly and shakes his head slowly. "There's...there's lots of tings it does actually, and its fire proof so we're safe there."
Armand is rewarded a blank look as the musician takes the offered coffee before he starts to give a few small chuckles, "And here I thought I was going to get carried out by your hair."
Armand bows his head and flashes a smile before he takes a sip of his own coffee and nods. "I must...get cleaned up and...um, dressed, please to enjoy the breakfast."
"Oh I will." Mike assures, holding up the coffee mug, "Thanks."
Armand gives a little bow and then wanders off, sipping coffee and humming 'Dancing Queen'.
~Fin~
