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

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

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.

From:

stilljustandrew

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

"After you?"

From:

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."

From:

stilljustandrew

"No closet jokes either, right?"

He steps through, looking around with interest.

From:

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.

From:

stilljustandrew

"I'm good, thanks."

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

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

From:

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."

From:

stilljustandrew

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

From:

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.

From:

stilljustandrew

"Yeah."

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

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

From:

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.

From:

stilljustandrew

Andrew looks at the books first, and notes the authors he recognizes -- but there is so much more of the music, and it would take him a while just to read the album names.

He's not going to take anything down for a closer look. That's just rude.

(Lorne may notice that his guest has fallen silent.)

From:

nomorekaraoke

It doesn't take him long to notice the very obvious lack of flowing conversation. Granted, that sort of thing comes with the territory of staying in separate rooms for the sake of privacy, but still...

Lorne comes ambling back out in a pair of slate gray-meets-brown jeans that haven't seen much wear and tear (or sunshine for that matter), an unbuttoned, muted blue shirt over his undershirt, and several scarves slung over his shoulder for mixy matchy purposes.

"...see anything you like?"

From:

stilljustandrew

He glances over his shoulder as Lorne speaks, and his face lights up in appreciation. "Oh, look at you."

From:

nomorekaraoke

There's a first (-or-is-that-second-?) time for everything. Lorne ducks his head with a shrug. "Oh, this old thing." Cue twirling, 360 degrees. "I have to say, though, when you're used to pressed slacks, jeans feel weird."

Says the guy whose idea of casual involves button down shirts and cuff links.

From:

stilljustandrew

"And vice versa," Andrew points out.

"You've got an awesome music collection here, you know that?"

From:

nomorekaraoke

"Touché," retorts Lorne, ambling on over to stand beside his friend-in-the-making, and gives said music collection a scrutinizing look. "Some people hoard post-its, I hoard music."

Even if he hasn't added to his collection in years, now. But that, like so many other things, is a very well kept secret.

From:

stilljustandrew

He reaches out and carefully brushes his fingertips over the spine of one record.

"Edith Piaf," he says in distant recognition. "Meg used to like that one."

From:

nomorekaraoke

"La Môme," he murmurs, nodding slowly. He reaches out for that very same album, taking it out from its snug little nook to give Andrew a closer look. "Life in Pink... That's a classic. This record was released in 1961, with visuals very typical of the period." Muted colours, soft lens portrait photograph... It's almost like an echo of a time and place, far, far away.

From:

stilljustandrew

Andrew leans in to study the cover art.

"Only song of hers I remember is La Vie En Rose."

His accent isn't too bad, but it's still very American.

From:

nomorekaraoke

...as if Lorne's pronunciation is any less American, despite his decidedly un-American heritage.

"'Hold me close and hold me fast, the magic spell you cast - this is la vie en rose...' ...I won't mangle the original lyrics, never fear."

From:

stilljustandrew

He perks up. "I didn't know it got translated into English."

From:

nomorekaraoke

"Oh, yes it did!" Lorne beams. "Edith Piaf recorded it herself, and then came Louis Armstrong and the rest, as they say, is history."

Coincidentally, "I have several versions of it. Seems to be one of those songs that get re-recorded time and time again."

(Lorne's obviously a closet romantic. Shush)

From:

stilljustandrew

"I never heard it."

Half a beat, and he looks back at the album titles again. "...Is that The Police?"

From:

nomorekaraoke

Lorne lingers a moment longer with the Edith Piaf album, until the question registers along with the slightly dubious tone of voice.

"Of course it is. Roxanne, Message in a Bottle, Don't Stand So Close to Me, what's not to absolutely adork?"