Papa's Got a Brand New...Bling (Late July 2008)

[nomorekaraoke]

It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life--

Wrong theme song, even though the theme certainly applies. It's a new day in Lorne's life. He quite enjoys dawn, thank you very much. He's found a new place to live - another penthouse in the middle of Youdon'tneedtoknow-ville. And recently, he's been indulging more and more in taking breathers at Milliways.

In short: good times all around.

Comments

[nomorekaraoke]

"Huh." He gives himself a long once-or-twice-over. "I just... With the glamour up and running, in my usual get up, all I see in the mirror is Disco Stu. Seventies revival. You name it."

Curse his love of big, unbuttoned shirt collars.

[stilljustandrew]

"Well," judiciously, "you could get rid of all the bright colors and wear a plain gray suit. Maybe with a blue tie."

Andrew's face is completely deadpan.

[nomorekaraoke]

Completely deadpan, and completely adorkable.

"Oh, why didn't I think of that?" He smirks, torn between impish mirth and wry self-deprecation. Truth is, it crossed his mind, but he didn't want to think he'd have to actually resort to such a comparatively monochromatic scheme.

"...you really think so?"

[stilljustandrew]

The deadpan cracks into a laugh. "No, you doofus."

[nomorekaraoke]

Silly him, how could he possibly think he'd get some serious advice.

Funny how a blush shows up so much more vividly when you're screamingly pale. Funny how embarrassment feels exactly the same way despite the glamour. Hot and cold at the same time, and entirely vicious.

"Right. Of course not. How about some genuine advice, smarty-pants?"

[stilljustandrew]

Very earnestly: "I think you look fine. Seriously."

[nomorekaraoke]

He shrugs, giving up the fight before it's even started. "I just don't want to stand out."

[stilljustandrew]

"...Oh." Andrew deflates a little.

[nomorekaraoke]

"I know. Me, wanting to blend in? That's crazy talk."

And if that's the case, he's been crazy all his life.



Just ask mommy dearest, she'll tell you all about it.

[stilljustandrew]

"Well, if the whole purpose is, like, protective coloration ... then yeah, you might want to do the gray suit thing."

He looks a touch disconsolate about it.

"Or maybe, I don't know, jeans and a button-down shirt."

[nomorekaraoke]

He's not going for the gray suit thing, sorry. Even if it's a silly, juvenile response to Andrew's good-natured jibe, it stung.

"Jeans I can do." He makes a tiny little moue of contemplation, eyes glancing to his closet and back to Andrew. "I could go for a shirt."

[stilljustandrew]

Andrew brightens slightly. "And, see, if you're doing jeans you can pretty much pair any color shirt with it."

He's not sure why it seems to matter, but ... conservative gray just feels wrong.

[nomorekaraoke]

Conservative gray is so not his style; maybe that's why it feels wrong. It certainly feels funky in a really off way to Lorne. He walks over to the closet, which, lo and behold, leads to his very secret, very need-to-know shiny new penthouse situated Somewhere over the Rainbow, New York.

"...step into my humble lair?"

[stilljustandrew]

His eyes widen, and he lets out a low whistle.

"How'd you get a door home that doesn't lead in and out of the main bar?"

[nomorekaraoke]

He shrugs, an enigmatic little smile tugging at the corners of his peachy pink lips. "Let's just say I'm a man of means."

Not to mention he's a demon who treasures his privacy like nobody's bizniz.

[stilljustandrew]

"So it would seem." Andrew eyes that smile for a moment, and then grins.

"After you?"

[nomorekaraoke]

That? That's a very good grin indeed. So good, in fact, that it manages to brighten Lorne's little smile into a corresponding grin. He steps inside his Milliways closet and into his apartment, holding the door open for Andrew.

"Come in, come in, and please, whatever you do, no Narnia comments."

[stilljustandrew]

"No closet jokes either, right?"

He steps through, looking around with interest.

[nomorekaraoke]

"Been there, done that when big, beautiful Bar set me up with this arrangement. Can I get you anything? Drink, snack, Tivo?"

The apartment itself is light and airy - walls so pale blue as to almost seem white, sunshine invading every space it can and entering freely through the nigh on floor to ceiling windows. He's kept his Orient-meets-Baroque coffee table and the outrageously fabulous couch and armchair combo, but that's as far as the similarities go between his old place and, well, this.

Despite the open spaces and so far clutter-free spaces, this might just seem more like a home. Maybe his priorities have changed since the Incident What Shall Not be Brought Up.

Or maybe it's just the daylight.

[stilljustandrew]

"I'm good, thanks."

He wanders absently toward one of the windows, looking out.

"Man. You've got a great view from here."

[nomorekaraoke]

He hums agreement on his way to his bedroom. "I've always loved Central Park. All that vegetative goodness reminds me of home, strangely enough. Strange for a value of Why would anyone want to be reminded of that place.

"I'll be back in a flash, I hope."

[stilljustandrew]

"'Kay." Andrew cranes his neck. "I think I can see Belvedere Castle from here."

[nomorekaraoke]

Why, if that doesn't bring back memories.

...of a not entirely pleasant kind.

"You should see it at sun-up. It's a feast for the senses, I'm telling you," he calls from inside the bedroom, rummaging about in his closet for a decent pair of jeans. Why on Earth he thought he could find a pair, he'll never know.

Oh, well. Rummaging Lorne is rummaging.

[stilljustandrew]

"Yeah."

Reluctantly pulling himself away from the view, Andrew looks around the rest of the room.

(Subconsciously, he's looking for the bookshelves.)

[nomorekaraoke]

The single most eye-catching piece of furniture in the entire room, open plan or not, must be the book shelves taking up the vast majority of the wall next to the bedroom door. What becomes immediately apparent, however, is that it's more of a storage place for what is now considered somewhat old-fashioned: records. LPs, EPs, and to some extent CDs. Albums, singles, collections.

Edith Piaf mingling snugly with Nat King Cole and Louis Armstrong, Erasure with Aretha Franklin, Depeche Mode and Michael Jackson. The list goes on (and it's not that there's dust anywhere near his music collection - maybe it's the way everything's so neatly arranged alphabetically and by genre - but something might just give the impression that he doesn't listen to half of it as much as he used to).

One shelf is dedicated to literature, and like his taste in music, so is his taste in books. Old books, and varied authors, similarly arranged, and most of them lovingly worn around the edges. Shakespeare, Douglas Adams, Ondaatje, Edgar Allan Poe... Though it's far less vast, the literature list goes on with similar flair.