Memo
He/him
28
August 26
Spikemuth, Galar Region
Homosexual
Ranger Captain
Elite Ranger
it gets lonely in this gangster's paradise
:dorime: [s][c]
POSTED ON May 1, 2022 21:35:51 GMT
[attr="class","samcam"] Oona was more hurricane than escort but she did eventually get Alexei Ivanov to the right building and up the stairs. She didn't stop moving the entire time, sprinting up to the landing and back down again, even once running along the handrailing to the steps. Meanwhile, memo was putting the finishing touches on his grand offering. He'd made three courses of food-- a spiced chicken salad with harissa carrots, chorizo paella (since Alexei couldn't have fish), and pork burritos smothered in salsa with fresh-smashed guac. He'd bought wine, and also bottled water, since he wouldn't drink anything out of the tap himself, and a homemade pitcher of strawberry-mint-guava lemonade. He knew of Oona's impending arrival by the noise of her approach-- a crescendo of steps down the hallway, and away, and then back again. The shorter the time it took for her footsteps to be right outside his door, the closer he knew they were coming; as such, he managed to pull open the door at precisely the correct time. “Hello there, handsome stranger,” he said, leaning faux-seductively against the doorframe, arms crossed over his GRILL DADDY apron. “Welcome to my humble abode--oh, look out,” he reached out and gently pushed Alexei to the side as Oona, having made a lap of the building, came crashing through the doorframe. She slide on the tile flooring, headfirst into a broken cabinet door (this explaining the breaking of said door) then skittered right, trouncing towards the couch, which she hit hard enough to make it rock backwards. It fell down with a thump, and Oona, job complete, tossed herself on her back, tongue lolling, panting like she’d just run a marathon. Because she sort of had. “C’mon in,” Memo said, once the chaos had passed, and he ushered Alexei out of the questionably carpeted hallway and into his apartment proper. It wasn’t dirty, by any sense of the word, though the outside of the complex did seem coated in a fine layer of grime. It was just.. Spartan. Simple white subway tiles gleamed on half of the room, meeting up with gray carpet that Memo kept immaculately vacuumed. There was a short, two-section long island with cheap lavender formica countertops; with the lack of room for a true dining table it was where Memo ate most of his meals. An L-shaped line of matching lavender cabinets took up the entire entryway wall, with a small, white fridge, and a dinged-up old gas stove/oven combo, above which hung a microwave. The walls were off-white. By far the most expensive thing was a tall shoe rack behind the front door that housed Memo's impressive collection of kicks. The living room consisted of a singular sofa on one wall, and a TV stand with a small flatscreen on the other. Down a short hallway to the left, there was a bathroom, with a toilet, sink, and shower, and a small bedroom just big enough for a twin bed with no frame, just a box spring, resting on a carpeted floor. It was cheap, poorly lit, but well maintained. And, currently, it smelled amazing, like spices and tomato and cooking meat. The flamboyant piano tones of Selena’s Si Una Vez filtered quietly through the air. Memo stood back, hands on his hips, and looked at his hard work and his life’s accomplishment of living on his own, such as it was. He was proud of it. Such as it was. [newclass=.samcam] [/newclass][newclass=.samcam b] color: #d49736; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: .5px; [/newclass][newclass=.samcam i] color: #d49736; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: .5px; [/newclass][newclass=.samcam u] text-decoration: none;border-bottom: dashed 1px #d49736; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: .5px; [/newclass][newclass=.samcam a] text-transform:uppercase!important;font:800 15px Poppins!important; [/newclass]
|
|