tayastorm: (Coffee)
He decided not to check the others. It wouldn't be so bad if some of them had things left in them, but if they were all empty it would be one creepy factor too many. Better to leave the cat in the box and let someone else find out.

Rummaging very carefully through the clutter, he found a pair of clean jeans that were snug but good enough, his black jacket and boots remarkably clean considering, but no shirt he'd be seen dead in. Or alive, more importantly. Sparkles were for girls and vampires, and he was neither. If he'd spent the last however long with a vampire it would at least explain the weird hickeys. Not that something like that really needed any sort of special explanation with him, but it would be more fun.

Traffic cone under one arm, he left the bedroom in search of caffeine.

The rest of the apartment consisted of an open plan kitchen and lounge room, both of which shared a similar state of chaos to the bedroom, though not as bad. Not so much less chaos, just not as much to make chaos with. Probably said a lot about whoever lived here, but Nathaniel didn't care. Made it a lot easier to find the coffee - instant - and a mug with no handle. The contents in the fridge at least had been spared the chaos, and the milk was in date, so the coffee wasn't a complete disaster. Even without painkillers the coffee made his head a much more pleasant place to be.

Caffeination achieved, he hunted around the room, quickly finding a phone and a clock with the date conveniently displayed.


He stared at it for a long moment before putting it back. He hadn't known they even made clocks that could display a year like 9999. An error maybe, or a practical joke. If the day was right though, it meant he'd managed to lose a full week to his drunken escapades. Suddenly the traffic cone made more sense. The fact that he wasn't in jail or hospital was more baffling though. Not that he was complaining or anything, but if he could work that out it would make future adventures so much more fun.

The phone was less use. It worked well enough, but that didn't help at all when no one answered. He left messages with promises to call again and letting them know he didn't have his phone - not mentioning that he didn't know where it even was. His sister had bought it for him and vowed at great length that if he lost it she would take it out of his hide. She'd been wielding a knife at the time, so he was inclined to think she really meant it. Sometimes he thought she'd become a surgeon just so she could make threats like that and be believed.
tayastorm: (Moments)
Nathaniel woke in a stranger's bed with a headache, a traffic cone, and no idea what day it was. It wasn't much evidence to go on, but he was willing to call it a successful New Year's celebration. What he wanted now was a successful recovery from said celebrations, which was going to require a long shower, several strong coffees, and decent painkillers. First though he had to decide whether or not he wanted to open his eyes.

Attempting to burrow under the covers settled the matter as he realised the bed stank. Getting up was definitely a priority.

His headache turned from a dull throb into a full marching band trying to reduce his skull to so much rubble with its enthusiastic banging when he sat up and opened his eyes to too-bright daytime. The windows, he discovered, were too high to see out of, but a perfect angle to let in all the sunlight ever. They also stretched the full length of two of the walls, with mirrored wardrobe doors to reflect it back, so there really wasn't anywhere to hide. Grabbing pants he hoped were his, Nathaniel clambered with much aching and cursing over the bed and across the obstacle course of toppled furniture and clothing, reaching the safety of the windowless bathroom with a wheezed prayer to a god he was willing to believe in if the sun would just not be there when he came out.

Sitting in the pitch black bathroom with his back to the door, he waited for his head to recover from the sudden activity, and gave the marching band a chance to slink out with their dignity intact before he evicted them forcefully.

He smiled in the darkness, chuckling painfully at the mental image. If only headaches were so tangible. He could get hours of fun by beating one up. Although knowing his luck they'd have a healthy concept of vengeance, and then he'd really be up the proverbial. Just for a change of pace of course.

Eventually his own odour drove him to action. Levering himself carefully to his feet he fumbled around for a light switch, pausing a moment to cover his eyes with one arm before turning on the light. It was weak enough that he actually dared to move his arm away and turn to the shower. Which was of course when the lights remembered that they could be brighter and he stumbled back in shock and pain, somehow ending up wedged between the toilet and the wall with a laundry basket hanging off one foot and a hand planted in a cat litter tray. He couldn't even glare at the offending light because the marching band was back in full force.

When he finally dared the shower it was kind enough to have decent water pressure, just enough heat, and no surprises. Except of course he hadn't checked whether there were any clean towels - there weren't - so he had to dry himself off as well as he could with the pants before braving the room of sunny doom for the sake of pants. Cracking the door open, he peered cautiously out, trying to assess the situation without getting the band's attention again. The shower had made them docile, but he still needed help to get rid of them completely.

Deciding that he could probably deal with the light as long as he didn't look at it directly, he opened the door wider and looked out, really noticing the room for the first time. It was a nice room, in potential at least. The bed stretched out from the middle of the wall opposite the bathroom, with plenty of space on all sides. The mirrored wardrobe leaned against the wall to his right, and to his left was a long low sideboard positioned so the door leading out to the rest of the apartment could never open completely. With the bathroom door sitting open, anyone coming in suddenly would probably get more of a shock than the person in the room, and certainly more door in their face.

What mostly got his attention though was the way things were strewn around the room. Less like they'd been discarded carelessly and more like his mother had been right about the spontaneous indoor tornado effect. The most disturbing part of which was the fact that all of the draws and doors on the sideboard and wardrobe were neatly closed. Even more disturbing, he found not long after when he opened one of the draws, was the fact that it was completely empty. He was pretty sure his mother's mythical tornadoes weren't that neat.


tayastorm: (Default)

April 2012

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