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Post by Amy (In America - Busy atm) on Aug 2, 2011 11:18:48 GMT
{name:Poster#|#picture:0}
Much of the city's youth resides in these walls, in this loud part of the city. The Apartments are located not too far from the nightlife scene, and themselves are prone to wild parties.
Residents:Janelle Summers Rochelle Thomas Robert Daley Renee McCullough Jay Pierce[/font][/color] |
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Post by Samantha on Aug 23, 2011 23:28:37 GMT
{name:Renee McCullough#|#picture:8}As he lay on his back in bed, an arm slung up over his face to block out the midmorning sunlight, Renee McCullough couldn't quite figure out what it was that had roused him from his sleep. But he was stuck—he realized, letting his shoulders sag against the mattress—in a state of conscious exhaustion and lethargic awareness; he could lie in bed for an hour, he knew, and still would not be able to fall back asleep at this rate.
Begrudgingly, he stretched out his free arm, blindly feeling for the alarm clock on the top his nightstand. His hand hit the cool, hard plastic, and he titled the face of the clock towards the bed. Squinting severely, his eyes struggled against the light, and when the red digital lettering eventually came into focus, he heard himself swear aloud: it was later than he had thought. The sun was already high in the sky.
Renee peeled the sheets away from his bare torso and pulled himself up into a sitting position at the top of the bed. He had just located his jeans amongst a pile of clothing on the floor when he heard it again—whatever it was that had woken him. It was a deep thudding sound, coming from somewhere beyond the wall behind him.
He rose and dressed, and then shuffled towards the bedroom door. As he moved, something knocked about beneath his feet and rolled under the bed with a hallow, glassy sound.
In the bathroom, he heard the thudding again and tried to remember the last time that he'd heard anything come through the wall from the apartment next door. It had been vacant for a couple of months now.
Renee reached for his glasses at the back of the sink and slipped them on. He leaned closer to the mirror, examining his bloodshot eyes. He couldn't even imagine trying to put in his contacts; his eyes were already screaming in protest to even being open, stung every time he squeezed them closed. Finally, he swallowed two aspirin tabs from one of his grandfather's prescription pill bottles and exited the bathroom.
He was not quite sure of his intentions as he vaguely moved through the common room of the apartment, but it was out of partial curiosity and partial desperation—he just wanted to make the thudding stop, for Christ's sake—that he found himself out in the hallway, standing amongst a stack of cardboard boxes in the open doorway of the next apartment over. Unmoving, he watched the figure of a young man, whose back was to Renee, attempt push a large couch along the far wall, the floorboards groaning beneath the weight.
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Post by legrande on Aug 24, 2011 20:08:09 GMT
{name:Robert Daley#|#picture:6}Robert Daley was sure that he had never climbed so many stairs before in his life. All morning, it seemed, he'd been carting cardboard boxes up to his new apartment. He'd had removal men in to take all his furniture up, but he'd made the decision to take all his other belongings up by himself--just to save money.
What he hadn't realised when he'd made that decision was just quite how many boxes he had, and how many flights of stairs he would have to carry them up.
If he had realised, he might not have been quite so keen to turn away the help.
By the time he'd made his first trip down to the van he'd rented, and back to his door again, his legs were beginning to ache; his arms were screaming in protest to carrying the heavy weight.
The way that Robert felt as he let the last--particularly heavy--box drop from his hands onto the floor next to the others was comparable to the way he felt coming off the pitch after a particularly violent game of rugby. His back ached and his hair was sticking to his sweaty brow.
He narrowed his eyes as he peered down the dimly lit corridor. It was then that he realised that he could just have used the elevator.
His brow furrowed and he cursed under his breath. His bad mood increased tenfold.
He wanted nothing more than to crash out on his couch, and fall asleep, but he was determined to get everything set up. He forcefully pushed open the door, and let himself into his new home. It was much smaller than he was used to, and the pale walls looked rather shabbier than he'd expected. Still. He'd chosen this for himself. He shouldn't complain.
Gritting his teeth with concentration, he began to shift around the furniture, rather carelessly.
He ignored the creaks from the floor, and the thumps as the large wooden sideboards he was rearranging hit the wall. He didn't care about things getting broken; he just wanted his possessions into some sort of order.
His biggest challenge proved itself to be the large three-seater couch. He hadn't appreciated quite how heavy it would be when he'd first purchased it in the second hand furniture shop. Then again, he hadn't had to move it anywhere. He strained with effort, and tried to get it pressed up tight to the wall. Eventually he managed, and he took a step back to look at his handiwork. He sighed heavily again as he realised that he wanted it further down than it was. He began his attack again, and he hadn't been trying long when he began to get the oddest feeling that he wasn't on his own any more.
Narrowing his eyes and straightening up, he spun around and glanced towards the door--which he had mistakenly left wide open. Sure enough, there was a figure stood there. Robert took a couple of hesitant steps towards it, to try and get a closer look.
It was a slightly bedraggled looking man who was stood there, and something about him just gave the impression that he wasn't there to welcome Robert to the neighbourhood.
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Post by Samantha on Aug 24, 2011 23:11:15 GMT
{name:Renee McCullough#|#picture:8}From where he stood in entryway, still having gone unnoticed by the man who continued to push his couch along the far wall, Renee let his gaze stray around the apartment. Having only ever been in one residence of the Berma Apartments—his own—he was struck by an odd sense of familiarity, mixed with the slight feeling of disorientation. It struck him then that, despite having lived in the building for more than a decade, his apartment was still not a home. Because a home, when it was truly your own, could not be so easily be recognized in that of any other; a home was inimitable, unique, yours.
Renee leaned the weight of his body against the doorframe, moving his eyes back across the apartment again. To his find, the stranger had come to realize that he was no longer alone in his barren apartment, and he had turned to find Renee lingering in the doorway. He took a step or two closer to Renee, squinting, and then stilled. Their eyes locked for a moment.
Renee felt his eyebrows rise in mild astonishment. In the face of the stranger was a certain softness that revealed his tender age, a guess that Renee had not put together from observing the man from behind as he worked. He was not a kid—his features were certainly far too mature—but there was something about him that immediately made Renee feel old at only twenty-six.
He shouldn't have been surprised, though, and he knew this. Most of the residents of the building were long-gone before Renee's age; most of the residents were young, just starting out. Renee, on the other hand, was not just starting out—had never had the opportunity, really. Not as his neighbor here appeared to be doing.
Renee crossed his arms over his chest and lowered his chin. Maybe it was his current physical condition, maybe it was the onslaught of such sour thoughts, but suddenly he felt extremely irritable, and his patience had long ago been worn thin, never too thick to have begun with.
"Is that it, then?" he started. Still, he did not move from his spot in the doorway. His voice was low and scratchy, as if he had not used for a long time, instead of the mere few hours spent sleeping. But all hoarseness aside, there was an unmistakable brutality with which the words came from his mouth, and he continued undeterred, "Can I go back to sleep now, or are you planning to nail curtains to the walls next or something?"
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Post by legrande on Aug 31, 2011 20:06:16 GMT
{name:Robert Daley#|#picture:6}Robert held eye contact with the stranger for a moment, watching several expressions flicker across his face, trying to decipher who would speak first. When he did speak, Robert was slightly taken aback by the harshness in his voice.
If he had been in a good mood, he might have passively brushed of the stranger's comment. He might have let it go; realising that, yes, perhaps he should have been more considerate. He might have allowed himself to see that this guy had a reason to be unhappy--it seemed that he'd been woken up by Robert's frenzied furniture rearranging--and apologised. That way, they could have avoided any further conflict.
However, Robert wasn't in the mood to think things through. Once he got over the initial shock of the harshness, he bristled. He was actually quite put out. Who was this guy to come over, throwing his weight around, leaning everywhere like he owned the place?
Robert studied him, noticing that he was certainly the older and taller of the two of them. Robert couldn't have put his finger on his exact age, obviously, but he would have hazarded a guess that he was in his mid-twenties. Robert wasn't intimidated, but he didn't fancy his chances if anything came to a fight...
Robert quickly glanced around his empty apartment, almost nervously, wracking his brains for some scathing wisecrack. Failing to think of anything, he turned back to the stranger, who still stood with his arms crossed in the doorway.
"You know what?" Robert snapped sarcastically, unable to think of a better comeback "I might just do that!"
Robert stared at the other man, waiting curiously, with bated breath, to see what reaction he would get, and wondering if he'd made an unwise decision.
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Post by Samantha on Sept 1, 2011 23:05:00 GMT
{name:Renee McCullough#|#picture:8}When the mouth of the stranger settled back into a pressed line and his shoulders arched, body leaning forward as if to intimidate Renee, Renee allowed himself to rise to his full height; he pried his body, still heavy with fatigue and ache, off of the doorframe, planting his bare feet firmly and squarely beneath him. He liked the height that he gained suddenly on the stranger; it did wonders for his pride—his pride which would not allow him to let this go, to return to his apartment next door. Though he would not back down, he still remained acutely aware of the man's young age. He had no intentions of letting this become physical, of course; the situation certainly did not warrant it, and it would just be unfair to fight a man with such a youthful face. But Renee would never let this translate over into his features. He would just scare his new neighbor a little, just a little.
Besides, it was not anger that the man's assertion—"I might just do that!"—made him feel. It was something of the quite opposite, actually, and Renee felt a slight grin playing across his face, though it was a smile that was laced with just the slightest trace of disappointment. He was aware of how young everybody around him was, but sometimes he forgot just how old he was—and the man's childish, if but a little absurd, response only confirmed this. Renee expected to get a rise out of him—he had known, actually, that he would get a rise—but the man's retort was not what he had anticipated.
Renee wanted to be crude, to swear, to be absolutely vicious with words—all because of something that mattered absolutely nothing in the long-run. So the man had woken him up—the morning was over, and the sun was high in the sky; it really didn't matter, not in the long-run. But Renee still desired to have it out, though the stranger's words left him absolutely speechless. How could he find the voice to respond to that?
It was just pathetic, and that's why Renee stood smiling disappointedly, and then laughing regretfully, in the doorway of his new neighbor's apartment, the eyes of the stranger still resting heavily on him.
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Post by legrande on Sept 6, 2011 21:40:35 GMT
{name:Robert Daley#|#picture:6}The reaction Robert got wasn't what he was expecting at all. The man in the doorway slowly, almost lazily, dragged himself fully upright. Robert realised, with a large gulp, that he was even taller than he, Robert, had first thought. As he stared back into Robert's eyes, his face remained hard, his expression giving nothing away about his mood. Robert continued to watch him closely.
Then, the man grinned. It wasn't a friendly sort of grin either. It had a sort of 'I'm-smiling-because-I-feel-sorry-for-you' look, mixed with what could have been... disappointment?
When the sound of the guy's laughter met Robert's ears, it was all he could do to stand there and gawp at him, feeling well and truly confused. He wondered whether his new neighbour had some sort of mental issue, what with these apparent mood swings, or was it something that he'd said...?
That was when it dawned on him. How stupid and lame his own reply sounded, now he thought about it. Perhaps what he'd said would have been funny and smart to a bunch of six year olds, but to a pissed off stranger in his mid-twenties... The more that he thought about it, the more he realised that his lack of life experience really hadn't done him any favours this time around. He felt his face fall, and cursed inwardly. Idiot.
The man's laughter--waning now--still rang in his ears, and he hoped that his cheeks had had the decency not to turn red, as they had had an embarrassing tendency to do for most of his adolescent years.
His green eyes were still unmoved from the doorway, but now he narrowed them again. Taking a deep breath, and trying to muster as much ferocity as he could, he clenched his fists at his sides. He hoped it didn't look too obvious that he was trying to cover up how embarrassed he was. After making himself sound so childish, he was determined to make up for his mistake, and come across as someone to be reckoned with. He hated getting his comeuppance, and that was--unfortunately for him--exactly what was happening.
"So," he snapped, trying to be indifferent and hostile at the same time, "You think I'm funny, do you? Or is this your usual way to welcome the neighbours? No wonder this place was empty..."
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Post by Samantha on Sept 7, 2011 22:00:46 GMT
{name:Renee McCullough#|#picture:8}The look that Renee was met with, as the smile began to fade and he once again got hold of himself, was one of pure loathing on the stranger's part. The man had tried to maintain a tone as apathetic as Renee's, and with what had Renee matched it? Laughter—that's what he'd offered up to the stranger, because it was all that he could.
But there was, behind the loathing and the clenched fists, another emotion, less outwardly prevalent than the former. A slight flush, barely noticeable, had broken out across the young man's face, as though he had been shamed by Renee's laughter. Renee immediately felt uneasy with a sense of fault, and he would have apologized, if only that were his way. But never had an apologetic word ever been among his vocabulary, and he was not about to introduce one for the sake of this kid's damaged ego. Let him learn the way of the world while he was still young.
With careful skill, Renee managed to keep his face blank as the man lashed out at him again, this time with more exasperation and, as the last few words escaped his mouth, slight incredulity. Renee waited deliberately in silence for a moment, and then took a step forward, unwelcome but uncaring, into the stranger's apartment. The soles of his feet slapped against the floor. He was only vaguely aware—and, again, only vaguely caring—that he had left his own apartment without bothering to slip on a pair of shoes, though about four sets lay by the door at all times, just waiting to be tripped over.
He stood in the center of the main living area, and the stranger remained back along the wall, still by his couch, if only but a few steps away from it. Renee couldn't help but smirk again, though he did so as discreetly as possible. "What makes you think that I'm here to welcome you?" he asked—a demand, really. "You honestly think that I care anything about you, or about anybody in this sorry building, for that matter? If they're leaving because of me, then I can't help but feel sorry for them; they'll learn, though. You'll learn, too—if you don't abandon house along with the supposed rest of them. After all, you wouldn't want to live alongside an indecent man like myself, now would you? I'm the most unfriendly; I'm just terribly inhospitable."
He turned his back to the stranger, just for a moment. Then he whipped his head back around, followed by his torso, and finally his entire body. With gentle fingers that rivaled the callous tone of his voice, he pushed his dark hair back from his forehead. From over the top of his glasses, he met and held the stranger's gaze, unflinching. "And don't be such a hypocrite. I'm not standing here because of any invitation of yours." His eyes flashed challengingly. "Now am I?"
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Post by legrande on Sept 24, 2011 16:40:19 GMT
{name:Robert Daley#|#picture:6} A silence hung over the room for a moment, before Robert watched as his neighbour took one--very exact--step forward. Robert's gaze fell to the floor, and he noticed the man's feet were bare. This didn't bother Robert. His first thought was actually to what his mother would have done. House proud and with an aptitude for cleaning, she couldn't bare the thought of having someone's 'grubby feet' going all over her carpet. In a situation like this, she'd probably have thrown a tantrum and run to find the nearest bottle of carpet shampoo--probably squawking something along the lines of "Socks! At least wear socks!"
Robert would have sniggered at the idea, but then the man spoke, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly.
"What makes you think I'm here to welcome you?"
Oh, Touché, Robert thought, but before he could say anything, his neighbour continued to rant, following up on Robert's own comment about the empty flat. Robert almost found himself smiling at the man's suggestion that he might like to quit while he was ahead and move back out. Robert would quite happily have moved into some nice digs, maybe even a proper house, instead of this apartment. However, it just so happened that the Berma Apartments were the only place in Lake Owensway that he could afford--without scrounging some money off his parents, that is..
Robert couldn't say he didn't feel a bit relieved when the man turned away, sure that that was him leaving. When he slowly began to spin back around, to face into the room, Robert his face fall slightly. Oh, geez...
Robert watched, as the stranger ran a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face, before directly catching his eye. The man opened his mouth and his accusation caught Robert slightly off guard. He found it impossible to see himself as the one with fault.
As the stranger's eyes flashed, Robert was determined to get a decent comeback in.
After his neighbour's outburst, Robert just shrugged, trying to mimic the way that the other man seemed to be able to keep his cool under pressure. He spoke with his voice laden with sarcasm, "Yeah? Well, I do beg your pardon! Perhaps you should have waited until I'd unpacked my kettle. Naturally I'd have invited you in for a coffee,"
Robert broke eye contact, glancing around the room, at the piles of cardboard boxes.
"As you can see, though, it could be anywhere. Plus, unless I'm very much mistaken, you don't want me here anyway. I'm not too bothered, I don't particularly want to be here either, but unless I win the lottery, I'm not going anywhere in a hurry, so don't get your hopes up."
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Post by Samantha on Sept 30, 2011 21:43:28 GMT
{name:Renee McCullough#|#picture:8}"You're putting words in my mouth," Renee said airily, with an overly-exaggerated shake of the head. This verbal spar had taken a turn in his favor; whereas his prime reason behind his anger had before been exhaustion and frustration, it was now out of pure pleasure that Renee continued to fuel this fiery argument—and Renee excelled at fighting just for the hell of it. The kid hadn't been able to keep his mouth shut; he just had to match his wit against Renee's, and for this Renee would make him feel a sense of regret—first for waking Renee, and secondly for challenging him so foolishly.
He began again in a level voice: "I can admit that I was displeased to be awoken by the sound of such a careless neighbor moving in—perhaps I was even a bit rash to react in the way that I did, but that is me, and I am undeniably rash—but I don't have any memory of ever saying that I wished for you to leave. You argue that I don't want you here, but from which of my sentences do you draw that conclusion? I am rash; I am not hateful, and you are thinking way too highly of yourself if you believe that I would put so much energy forth into wanting you gone. I don't care whether you're here or there, and it's as simple as that. You are putting words in my mouth that have no truth to them, and which you yourself in no way can back up."
Renee thought for a moment, as his monologue came to a close, about his reasons for bothering with this kid—his aggressiveness, his pride, his love of arguing—and began to wonder about the stranger. What were his reasons? These two men, Renee and his neighbor, knew nothing about each other, not even one another's name; they had known each other for all of ten minutes now. What was stopping this young man from throwing Renee, a jerk of his own knowing, out of the apartment? The door was right there, already open.
Perhaps—Renee thought, letting his eyes roam across the face of the man once again—they were both equally as proud as one another. And strangely enough, Renee actually found himself admiring, if only for the slightest moment, the nameless stranger for this fabricated attribution.
Then again, it could have also been his naivety, as Renee was once again reminded by the man's young face. He again wondered curiously about the stranger's age.
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Post by legrande on Nov 10, 2011 0:04:56 GMT
{name:Robert Daley#|#picture:6}Robert felt somewhat gobsmacked, he couldn't believe it. Everything that he said, this stranger could match. He'd goaded this man into the argument, fully expecting to get away with it, like he usually did. Never before had he met someone that was so able to hold his own in an argument. Robert had thought he was smart before today, yet everything he did seemed to simply embarrass him, and make him sound stupid and childish. Even the way he talked, the words he used, they made him sound clever, as if his words came to him effortlessly. Robert hated it, the more he tried to copy, to match the stranger, the more flustered he became. If he'd had any sense, he would have apologised in the first place, instead of dragging the confrontation out and digging the hole he was in even deeper. However, he hadn't, just because he was too proud to back down.
Well, pride was one reason. Another reason was that Robert had been craving a chance to prove himself. After all, he was—legally—an adult now, and he wanted to show his family that he didn’t have to rely on having them there to pay his way and fight his battles. Although, so far all he'd done was to annoy a stranger and make a couple of misjudged decisions. Adult life really wasn't shaping up right now... Stupid, stupid.
Was that the main reason? Robert was just too stupid to know better when he was doing something daft.
Robert rubbed his forearm slightly, a habit that he'd always had. It was his reaction when he was nervous or in this case—unsure of what he should do. He could continue to drag out this confrontation, knowing that sooner or later he'd lose his temper and probably do something stupid. He could apologise and then curl up on his sofa to soothe his damaged ego, or he could... what could he do? Tell this man—who probably wouldn't be the slightest bit interested—his long and boring life story and somehow expect to have pity taken on him? No, that was just pathetic. That was the cause of this whole situation really, wasn't it?
Why didn't he just ask this guy to leave? Robert wondered. After all, he was under no obligations to be polite, he hadn't invited him in; he wasn't a guest of any kind. Robert would have called him an intruder, if he'd had to call him anything. Still, here he stood, his actions unchallenged. Robert didn't want to mess with him, not really. He didn't look tough exactly, but there was something about him, not just his height, that gave Robert the impression that this wasn't the sort of person that you really wanted as your enemy. Robert had already upset him enough, it would take some nerve to tell him to go away on top of that, Robert decided.
Robert bit his lip slightly, staring at the floor as he decided how best to reply to the man's speech. How was he meant to top that? Even if he felt he was right—which he did—the man had an air about him that made Robert, who had never been afraid to speak his mind, speechless. After a tense moment, Robert looked up, his eyes slightly narrowed, although any ruse of anger had long since evaporated. It was purely frustration that drove him on.
"You just don't quit, do you? It doesn't matter what I say, you won't be wrong? If it's because I haven't said that I'm sorry, then fine, I apologise for waking you, " Robert said, with a small shake of his head—he wouldn't really say he was sorry, he wasn't—"But somehow I got the impression that you were none too pleased about my arrival. I just did. Picked up some sort of vibe. Hey, maybe I just judge people too fast! That's just how I am. Anyway, everyone makes assumptions, you know, is that so very wrong?"
His words held less attempted bravado than before, they were slightly more heartfelt. Robert looked up, locking eyes with the other man once again, wondering what he'd manage to make of them, and expecting--somewhat prematurely--that he'd be shot down once again.
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Post by Samantha on Nov 22, 2011 21:07:04 GMT
{name:Renne McCullough#|#picture:8}Renee was struck astounded for a moment, and he felt his mouth fall agape before he could otherwise stop it. Just as quickly, however, he had closed it once again. He fixed his eyes determinedly on the ground beneath his feet, mind racing. He didn't want the stranger to realize how thrown he had been by the apology—how speechless it had rendered him—but much to his horror, it had. Renee didn't apologize; he wasn't an apologizer. Despite that the stranger's words had started off somewhat harsh, they had mellowed into a soft, almost remorseful tone that Renee knew he himself was incapable of. It made him frustrated, almost angry. Why could he not do that? He couldn't admit he was wrong; he couldn't own up to his shortcomings.
He had to take the stranger's kind gesture and turn it into something nasty. He just had to. If Renee couldn't muster up an admission of guilt, why should anyone else be able to? He would make his new neighbor regretful—more regretful than he'd admitted to for waking Renee up, for judging: regretful, simply, that he'd said he was sorry, and that Renee couldn't do the same.
But the words wouldn't come. When Renee opened his mouth again, ready to attack, he found himself incapable of expressing the words that were pounding around in his head. He felt very weak all of the sudden—and not because of his lack of words. He was taller than this stranger, perhaps more articulate with his words, but he suddenly felt so small standing before him. The man was bigger, had something that Renee himself lacked. He wanted so desperately to make the feeling go away. All he needed was a drink; that would make him feel better.
In all truth, his pride and his eloquence wasn't winning him any friends. He had the occasional drinking buddy or the man whom he shared a quick laugh with at work, sure, but nobody with whom he could definitively say he had a 'friendship.' There was his grandfather, but their relationship was one based on need and a sense of family responsibility. The old man was the only one who put up with all of Renee's flaws; all of the others fled. Not that they were in the wrong at all, Renee knew.
He was already casting this impression on his new neighbor, who he'd known for all of fifteen minutes so far. A brand new face, a clean slate—ruined. It wasn't even as if he was looking to make a friend—but it would have been nice to have had a neighbor who didn't absolutely hate him.
He could still have that, if only he could form the words to apologize. Why couldn't he just do that? The stranger seemed to be able to do so with such ease. Renee could still hear the faint trace of sincerity in his voice, as the words echoed in his head. He could mimic that surely. Couldn't he?
But instead the words came out all wrong. "I don't much care for tea," was what he heard himself saying, with a tilt of his head in the direction of the stranger. His mind had backtracked to an earlier point in the conversation between the two men, hoping the assertion didn't make him sound too crazy It was all he could offer, but maybe it would count for something. "I like coffee, though. You, um, said you had a kettle?"
And then he tried to smile, but it was a smile that quivered.
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