The wiring was messed up. If you flicked up the light switch the fan went off, if you flicked it down the fan went on. The other switch worked in a similar fashion. The entire apartment just screamed "NO GIRLS LIVE HERE" ranging from the abundance of dirty dishes to the lack of tasteful decorating.

The walls were the same dull tan they had been since both the boys had moved in. The couch was simply the cheapest one that Stephen had found at a thrift store. Matching it to the carpets and wall color had simple escaped him. On the coffee table there were multiple empty glasses.

The apartment could have looked a lot worse, and maybe it would have if the doors to either of the boys bedrooms had been left open. Stephen had never seen Tatters room, he really didn't know why he would want to, but he just assumed it was as messy as his. Recently Stephen had discovered under the layers of clothing, towels, dishes, books, and school papers that the carpet was a very lovely shade of light blue.


Stephen already had gone swimming and had come back to find the apartment rather empty. It wasn't that rare of an occurrence, but it did mean that he didn't have to bother putting on pants. It was seven or eight in the morning. It was hard to tell the exact time because the clock in the kitchen had frozen at three o'clock a couple of weeks ago and neither man had attempted to fix it.

Currently Stephen is sitting in a pair of boxers with a bowl of cereal in his lap and a plate of cold pizza on the counter. The milk had expired three days ago; he was not even going to risk it. Digging his spoon into the dehydrated sugar-coated breakfast meal he takes a bite. Not too bad. He takes another one and then moves to pizza from a a night or two ago.

Breakfast of champions... Er well... poor college students.

The relative silence of Stephen's breakfast is disturbed by a series of noises.

The door creaks open and then slams shut.

There are two thuds - a sound easily recognisable as flip-flops hitting the wall.

Then Stephen's roommate wanders into the kitchen, shedding his denim jacket as he does so. He drapes it over the back of one of the rickety kitchen chairs and then sort of slumps down into the chair and yawns. He smells - not unusually - of weed and cigarettes.

"The door creaks," he announces, unnecessarily. He's giving Stephen's breakfast a weird look. "Also, it sticks." He's just pointing this out for good measure. It's not like either of them is ever going to anything about it.

He pauses, thoughtfully. There are several dozen multi-coloured twist ties in his hair (which is actually quite useful, when you want a twist-tie), but other then that (and also the fact that he's got a whole bunch of bracelets that seem to be made out of pop-can rings) he looks relatively normal, in faded jeans and a somewhat worn-out tee-shirt. 'Born to Run' is stenciled across the front of it and the U is almost gone.

"There was a girl on the couch," he adds. He gets up to go look in the fridge and see if there's anything vaguely edible. It doesn't seem likely. "Kind of a cute girl. Not wearing very much."

He stares vaguely at the more or less empty fridge, sighs and then frowns. "Why's there a bar of soap in the fridge? Wait, never mind. Don't want to know." The soap looks pathetically inedible. "Then again, why is there a granola bar in the fridge?"

Again, he doesn't actually care to know. He just takes it out, and then takes a can of beer out and sets that on the counter while the wrapper of the Chewy Oats 'N Chocolate bar.

"I'll get on that." He mentions with utmost sincerity in between the bites of his dry cereal.

"After I fix the sticking windows, the messed up wiring, the bathroom lock and repaint the walls." He lets out a snort that could pass as a laugh and starts stirring his milkless cereal.

"Girl on the couch? Huh.. Oh... Yeah... Her name is.. Diane... or something like that. I ran into her on the way home from the bar." Stephen shrugs and lets out a yawn his hand reaching over to scratch at his chest.

"Soap?" He rises an eyebrow.

"To ward of evil spirits of course." He tires to keep a straight face but it fails miserably.

"I have no fucking idea why there is soap in there. But the granola is there because some ants were trying to get into it in to cupboard."

Prying the can of beer of open and taking a long swig, Tatters shrugs in a way that suggests he knows exactly how likely it is that any of these jobs will ever get done. "I could do it," he offers, "y'know, after I've done the window sealing..." they really should do that one, 'cause they're gonna freeze with all winter drafts. "And that light in the hallway that's sort of falling out of the ceiling."

He pulls himself up onto the counter and breaks off a piece of granola bar. He crunches it and then adds, "her shirt is under the couch. She works at Loblaws, apparently. A proud employee since 2007. It would sort of explain why there wasn't any soap in the bathroom..." he's wondering how it got into the fridge. Presumably one of them was drunk and did it. It's also worth noting that he's left the soap where it was. "And the granola bar, it's all... plasticated... ants can't smell through plastic, can they"

Well, maybe they can. It wasn't covered in the English courses he took at school.

"Oh well. Whatever."

"Well I just don't like the idea of bugs touching my food. I mean I love bugs, but they touch so much stuff. It's kind of gross." Stephen shrugs his shoulders and finishes off his cereal before he starts eating his slice of pizza.

"Oh? She left her shirt. That's weird.. I defiantly don't remember getting laid last night..." He shakes his head.

"Why don't you use some sleight of hand to use some WD40 on the..um.." His blinks as he stands up to toss his disposable bowl in the trash.

"..Hinge.. That's the word I'm looking for. God that took longer. Alright. I'll paint the walls if you do the door and window stuff." It's not going to happen and he knows it.

Tatters doesn't bother to repeat what he's already said - it was plastic wrapped. There was no way in hell the ants were actually going to get to it. He just takes another gulp of beer and shrugs. He shrugs a lot, when he's not feeling forward enough to raise his eyebrows.

"I'm not sure. She had very nice legs, or rather a nice leg. I'd think she was memorable. But I can take it..." Diane's shirt, this is, "by the store," he suggests, "I have to go anyway, or we'll probably end up starving to death. They might even sell WD-40 there."

He is continuing on the pretense that either of them are ever actually going to do anything about the sorry state of the flat. Not so much that he's actually going to ask Stephen what colour he wants to paint the wall, but enough.

He continues demolishing the granola bar.

"Ants are crafty motherfuckers. Trust me." Stephen keeps eye contact for three or four seconds before he gives up and rubs his eyes with the palm of his hand.

"She's cute, but not quite my type." He's being nice about the fact she's a big girl. He may be a prick, but he doesn't have to come off like one.

"I can introduce you if you want. She seems nice. I've only talked to her twice. But I say she is anything but a proud employee. Seems like she hates her job... speaking of jobs, do you have this months rent yet? I'm going to need it by the end of the week."

"All right, will do," Tatters agrees. Stephen hasn't ever demonstrated himself as being untrustworthy, and granola bars don't seem like they need to be an issue.

"I was just sort of going by the button on her shirt," he explains, "I rather imagine that proud employees of Loblaws are pretty far and few between. And, uhm, thanks. But no, I've sworn off women for the month." He's always been pretty open when it comes to sex, but lately he's realised there are serious advantages to sleeping with guys. For instance - they never get pregnant.

Argh. Fuck. The rent. He pauses, wondering if he can pass non-existent money off on Stephen. He thinks he probably could. But it'd probably go missing sometime and that would be annoying.

"Erm. I think so. Probably."

He scratches his head and thinks, memo re: get a fucking job. One that actually pays.

"I mean," he clarifies, to be reassuring, "yes. I just have to roll it. Unless you want it in change."

He really needs to get a job. He's got too many bad habits to support.

"Just the month?" Stephen runs his hands through his short blonde hair.

"Or is this a more permanent thing?" He doesn't really care either way, but it's nice to know what he might accidentally walk in on if his timing is wrong (or right depending on your point of view).

"Mm.. What do you think of the beard?" He asks as he runs his hand over it. The conversation point may be off topic, but he's also standing around in his boxers. He tends to be off topic random and a little bit inappropriate.

"Should I shave it off? It's kind of growing on me." He pauses for a second, "No pun intended... Just wait until you've got it all counted for and everything. I don't want to have to count it out for the landlady. She creeps me out."

"Erm," Tatters really has no idea how or desire to start on the whole complex thing about girls and their whole ability to get pregnant. "No idea, really. It's just a thing." He gulps back some more beer and runs a hand across his jawbone. He doesn't really realise the connection between his motion and the conversation. He's just sort of noticing now he's got a bit of a two-day shadow.

"Beards are a bit iffy," he tells Stephen, "unless you want to look a bit... what's the word? A bit extreme, anyway."

Beards are a statement of extremes - whether you're extremely passionate about God, Medieval History or D and D, plenty of facial hair is a good way to warn people about your fervor.

"I can pay her if you like. I honestly won't bugger off with the rent."

The rent is barely worth buggering off with, all things considered.

"Did you get your heart broken recently? Or are girls just too fucking difficult for you to get, too?" He sighs and stretches backwards slightly where he is standing to let the joints snap, crackle, and pop like those wake up noises from the little elves in that commercial that one time.. Wow his mind was really messing with him. He couldn't remember anything at the moment.

"It's cool. I'll just pay... She just.. doesn't blink. It's weird." He shivers and shakes his head trying to clea the timage of their old landlady.

" Back on the subject of me... I think I'll shave it... But I'm probably going to head back to sleep first. I'm fucking exhausted, which is a bit annoying since I didn't do anything today.." He starts stepping over his towel from his swim practice, but picks it up as he heads to his room. He can at least look like he's trying to help clean the place up.

"Definitely. Either. Both." He shrugs again, drains the can of beer and slides off the counter. He actually puts the granola bar wrapper in the rubbish bin, scoring a point on the Good Housekeeping Meter. He's not actually slutty, just a bit lazy. "She's probably just trying to discomfit you... That's what people do when they want to keep you on edge. They don't blink."

"Yeah, have a nice sleep... Imma go have a smoke."

He's also feeling pretty bloody tired, but that's probably because he was up all night. So maybe he'll make some coffee after he's had his fag - provided the coffee maker hasn't upped and died on them - and then he'll take a shower and shave.

And then possibly he'll go look for a life.

"I'll get that money for you today," he calls after Stephen. The sound of Tatters voice is mixed with the rattle-thump noises of him having an altercation with the previously discussed front door.

"Alright." He mumbles as he heads down the his bedroom. He stops partwat down the hallway and turns to look at his room mate. He leans against the wall and looks over him quickly.

"It's getting cold soon, Tats." Stephen says crossing his arm over his chest.

"You should probably get an inside job. Well unless you've got some magic powers to keep you warm when it's fuckin' snowing outside. Just leave the money on my dresser if I'm sleeping or not here." He smirks at him and turns around to head to his room so he can go take a nap.