ArchivedLogs:Interior Decorating

Interior Decorating
Dramatis Personae Corey, Mirror, Parley
In Absentia	2013-04-24 not a field parley and mirror will have some career in
Location Some Furniture Store, Somewhere
It's a neat little store in Chelsea, new and consignment both, an expanse of neatly-arranged home decor from the brightly colourful to the sleekly modern to the sturdy-solid classics. Among this treasure trove of furnitures and furnishings, one young man, middling-tall, tan skin, athletic, is drifting kind of aimlessly. Not really gravitating towards any style in particular. Stopping by a black leather futon, stopping by a bright blue loveseat, trailing fingers over a plain and serviceable tan wingback armchair. This not!Joshua looks much as Joshua always does. Slightly (only slightly) scruffy, casually dressed in jeans and work boots and a red plaid flannel shirt over black undershirt. His mind is Joshua's, too, warm and quiet and calm laid over a Mirrorbackdrop of /cool/ and analytical. He does not look exceptionally /pleased/ with any of the couches. But not exceptionally displeased, either. He sits on one. It is red. Corduroy. Bright. He bounces experimentally. "Will it clash with the paper?" Parley has wrapped his hands around the arm of the couch beside Mirror. His off-work clothes are less business-casual; he's also given way to plaid flannel, though his is blue and black and overlarge a few sizes, worn over a cool gray turtleneck that might negotiably be considered faded 'dark blue', with faded jeans kind of worn to a frayed white along the pockets with a hole in one knee. The 'paper' he's referring to is the single newsprint page he'd unfolded and hung on the wall in their living. Because he liked the article. It totally counts as a budding 'decor'. He might have also hung a drink label next to it. Because the colors, dark green, black and bright pink text, had presumably pleased him. Having a new apartment came with the added issues of furnishing the place, and on a budget Corey was out looking for deals and comfort more than appearances. Dressing in a long sleaved navy blue shirt and khaki trousers, he was passing by most of the more retro styles. Nodding to the other fellows who were out for a deal as well, he collapses himself into an old recliner, making it creak slightly from his size. Frowning at the protesting noise it made and murmuring to himself "Well, that's not a good sign," before reaching to the handle to pop up the legs to try reclining it. "Can you clash with black and white?" Mirror is genuinely asking this, he doesn't seem to KNOW intuitively. As a result he is /studying/ a nearby table in black and -- well, /chrome/ and glass, trying Very Hard to be cool and modern. He is comparing this table to his couch. Bouncing again. Bouncebouncebounce. His dark eyes slide over towards Corey, at the nod, and /his/ return nod comes with a return telepathic /touch/ -- not really /feelable/, silentquiet but a light brush of mental contact, skimming surface thoughts to ascertain the reason behind this nod. It's possible Mirror doesn't understand Polite Formalities. Nodding for the sake of nodding. "Can you clash with black and white?" he asks Corey, quite seriously. And then, to Parley, equally seriously: "I think. I might. Hang a /painting/." He doesn't /own/ a painting, admittedly. And yet. Parley's psionic touch is, if possible, even quieter than Mirror's; an empathic brush that would pick up sentiments, blanket intentions and emotional state. It coasts alongside, arm in arm with Mirror's as though the two had shared the reflex, casual, unalarmed and habitual(...ly nosey.) "Black and white on a white wall," he clarifies to Corey, either assuming 'we know Corey' or just not worried if they don't. He adds, in case its relevant, "A wall with a window." He creeps a leg over the arm of the couch to slip down beside Mirror, running his thumbs over the ribbed corduroy texture of the upholstery, "What kind of painting. Will you paint it?" That /is/ where paintings come from. "Feel." He reaches for Joshua!Mirror's hand, to direct it to spot his thumb is picking at - this requires he pull Joshua's body across his lap to feel the /arm/ of the couch. This one specific spot that he's discovered. With no psychic nature of his own, the touch goes straight through to the man. A general amiable nature is easily felt at the surface, and little more reason than common location being the reason behind the nod. Of course, the concern about creaking chairs now resided in the forefront of his mind, with Corey sliding out of the chair to the sproinging sound of old springs. "Alright, something a bit more sturdy then," his words more for himself than the other gentlemen. Being directly addressed by Parley, his mind churning through his Aesthetics classes from before, Corey stood still. "Well usually everything goes well with black and white doesn't it? But you probably want to go with Wintery colors?" Not sure if that was the word for it or not, eyes sliding over the assorted furniture, he chuckles. "Usually they say wintery to mean the darker stuff, like navy blue or the more dead browns. But really, you can probably get away with any of the colors and just claim its art nouveau. Most people can't tell the difference." Shrugging to the others, he looks still for that which will fill the void of comfortable seating in his abode. "I don't know how to paint." Joshua say this thoughtfully, not so much like an obstacle to this idea but more of a consideration. Slow and quiety. "I should ask. Lessons. Someone who knows about art." Though this hits on a second Novel Idea: "Or just ask an artist /for/ a painting. We know an artist. /Maybe/ more than one." This idea comes as he is dragged, fingers scritchy-scraping at the corduroy. Afterwards he does not bother rising. FloppyMirror. Sprawled out across Parley's lap. "Darker colours would be so much dark." His lips press together, faintly thinning. "Navy blue with black. Dead brown with black. Maybe we could match the bright pink." Of the drink label. "Do you," he asks Corey, "paint?" He offers probably unnecessary clarification on a delay: "Paintings. The kind in frames." "We don't have any frames," is reminded, with a pensive drag of teeth over a bottom lip. Parley nudge-adjusts Mirror like a seatbelt into a comfortable position. His empathy has a tendency to dilute his own presence, washing in the aura's of others, and Mirror's subtle-cool undertone is idly sorted out from the Joshua-overcurrents in an absentminded mental grooming. It's all so much roommate-homey-relaxed background noise, considering, "You can't really do it wrong, can you? Painting is just putting paint down. We could ask many people for paintings." He is semi-asking Corey this for confirmation, an arm draped over Mirror's shoulder more like Mirror's just another part of himself than a necessarily affectionate gesture. He's been annexed. "I'm not sure I'd like it too dark. What are you looking for?" Maybe they'll just get one of whatever Corey is getting. Shaking his head to Mirror/Joshua, Corey says "I'm afraid not, at least not well. So unless you want a Pollock style splatter color, you're better off finding someone else." A general sense of amusement came from watching the two sprawling on the couch, with him leaning against a couch's arm for support. "It shouldn't be too hard to find someone though, and if you want some prints of famous works, the museums carry them in the gift shops from what I've seen." The two were making him curious though, as their questions seemed a little too naive. "You can always hire an interior decorator if you're concerned about coming up with a particular image though. The ones I've met do ask a lot of questions about what you like to make it really fit what you want." With the question of what he was looking for, Corey chuckles again. "Oh, I'm just looking for something to keep my butt comfortable and off the floor. I just have a crappy little apartment after all, not really enough room to fill and make artistic." Images of the small abode went flowing through his mind, more idealized than real life, but it was simple with sparse decor, and in his minds eye a recliner sat in front of an open window. "A good old Lay Z Boy would work nicely though, but I can't afford a new fancy one. Too many buttons and features when all I really need is something that can recline while I read." "I think you can do it very wrong. Dancing is just moving, perhaps to music. Acting is just /pretending/ to be something you aren't." Which for SOME REASON elicits a look and feel of deep amusement from not!Joshua. "But you can fuck those up pretty badly. Even Pollock had some depth to his colors." His fingers still rub against the corduroy. Absent now. Mindless feeling of the texture. "Perhaps," he murmurs, quieter, staring up at the ceiling, "we should get a thing that /reclines/." Corey is an /inspiration/! "I don't want prints of famous works. I think I want originals of unfamous ones." His lips twitch-curl upwards. "Infamous ones. We could start a collection. You can put art on the walls," he informs Corey solemnly. "Then it doesn't take up space. If space is limited." That sense of deep amusement in not!Joshua inexplicably sets Parley off to furiously adjusting the other's flannel sleeve in mechanical smoothings while he listens to Corey, "We have a beanbag you can recline in." If you're... in their... apartment. "We could get more. I do like reclining." Smoothsmoothsmooth, his head is tipping to one side, "It's probably partly subjective. I wouldn't mind hanging something you painted somewhere." Smoothing turns into a very light tug, "Is a painting infamous if the artist that paints it is?" << (we know)(someone) >> is murmured only to Mirror's mind, in amalgamated concepts more than words. His rendition of 'someone' has an /awful/ lot of sparklydazzle to it - and something that briefly clenches, like a stomach cramp. His tone is wry-amused though, "Would it make our own apartment more infamous, the more we had? What color would an infamous couch be?" Smiling at the thought of collecting bad artwork, Corey looks to Mirror|Joshua. "I would have to say that's one of the more original decorating styles I've heard of. You can make trips to places like New Orleans, or various art squares, stop by local artists and pick up anything that strikes the eye. Could also get chalkboard or whiteboard paint so you can change what your walls look like every day. It doubles as a roommate notification system then." The two were giving off a kind of artsy nature, so may as well suggest the more artsy ideas after all. At the suggestion of arting up his own walls, Corey's head tilts to the side in thought. "I can't put too many holes in the wall. Don't want to break the lease after all. I've mainly been keeping plants to brighten up the place and that's been going pretty well. I was surprised just how well everything's been doing honestly with how poor the lighting is, but I'm not going to complain at the good luck. Maybe the things they grow up here are just sturdier hybrids. The marigolds that Micah bought recovered and bloomed quite nicely overnight." The friendliness of the two wasn't lost on him, and with Parley offering to recline on their beanbag chair, a general sense of happiness exudes from him. "It's a large beanbag chair," Mirror clarifies absently. "-- putting holes in the wall breaks a lease?" This puts a distinctly discomfited crease in his brow. "How will we hang our paintings?" Because he's already clearly decided there are going to be paintings. "An infamous couch would be --" He considers this, a while. "Violet." << We do. >> In him this is slow and thoughtful but similarly laced with dazzle. << His paintings are excellent. >> This comes with a /return/ smoothing, one hand lazy-lifting to pat at Parley's hair. Strokestrokestroke. "Infamous, I suppose, depends on where you stand," which might be a continuation of spoken /or/ mental thoughts. "One man's freedom fighter is another man's terrorist." For some reason /this/, too, has a wry curl of amusement, but it's deeper, more buried, sunk far past Joshua and tucked away in a tiny Mirrorcorner. "A whiteboard could be good. I don't think any of us have any skill with art." Though Mirror would, if he became an artist. He entertains /this/ idea briefly, too. The mention of 'Micah' summons up images in his mind -- a young intern at the Daily Bugle, a tiny dark-haired child who is the son of one of /Joshua's/ coworkers, a cheerful young man often present at the Lofts -- now he has reached the end of his Micah-acquaintances. "Plants. What kind of plants? Perhaps we should have plants." He is maybe easily suggestible when it comes to notions of Home Decor. "We could hang one. In --" There's a pause for thought. "The /kitchen/." "You can fix holes," Parley says with confidence, closing his eyes and lowering his head into Mirror's petting, "if you have -- /spackle/. Though." One eye opens, troubled - or miffed - in its narrowing, "I don't know how to use spackle yet." The yet very nearly suggests he might punch holes just for the excuse to learn. As the mental dazzle fades into lingering pensiveness, Parley mentally grows suddenly still at the resonance of purely 'Mirror' amusement. He doesn't chase it down - his talents run far short of the capacity to even if he tried - but he does give it the most delicate of touches? Reflecting the shape back at Mirror like - well, a mirror << (..?) >> "I suppose we all want to fight in our own way. Let's get a violet couch." A pause. "And a violet plant." Shorterpause, "And extra cushions." These don't necessarily have to be violet. He raises his eyes back to Corey, "I know a Micah." << (that one.) >> He picks the cheerful young man out of Mirror's mental lineup. "It doesn't always break the lease, but sometimes it does. And if you don't know how to spackle a hole, there are some pretty cool adhesives, made with that in mind. It should be able to hold up a painting, I mean they can hold up wet towels, and those are way heavier than paintings, Corey says as he nods. Running a hand back through his hair, he was looking around the show room for beanbag chairs, as that would solve his problem as well. "And if you're looking for kitchen plants, you may want to try some herbs. Those smell nice, can be put into food, and look pretty. Though I'm not sure about violet ones. Maybe amaranth, but it is more of a food plant than a herb." Hearing that Micah is known to these fellows as well, bemusement came to Corey's face. "I am beginning to think that there isn't anyone that Micah does not know. I guess with his travels and volunteering he gets to meet the most interesting sorts." Hrming to himself, he looks over the now more neatened fellows, then a sense of embarrassment came, and he says "Oh, forgive me I didn't even ask your names. I couldn't exactly tell Micah I met more of his friends if I don't know your names. I'm Corey by the way. Nice to meet you two." "There are," Mirror says with a trace of amusement, "/many/ Micahs in this city. I know three." He frowns. "Maybe four?" This is indistinct. Another Micah, older, cameraguy for a local news station. Goes by Mike. Causing some confusion in Mirror's Micah-access-memories. "I wouldn't say I'm friends with any." This is also a slow and puzzling-out thought. His mental googlesearch is typing define:friendship. The reflectionshape Parley peers at is still quiet. A nestled-away dark spot that upon touching blooms into something -- something louder, something angrier. Maybe there are gunshots. And then its petals fold and tuck neat-away back into quiet-analytical. define: terrorist define: freedom fighter Mirror looks away. Over couches and armchairs and towards a pair of beanbag chairs in the distance. "I don't think I know any Coreys. Yet. We could do violet. Have you seen any violet couches, here? They need to be --" He pauses, turning over Home Furnishing Requirements in his mind. "-- couchlike." His mind is not the most helpful of places when it comes to furniture. "Comfortable," he tries instead. Still tucking a stray wisp of Parleyhair away into place. TUCK. Pet. Tuck. "And big." Though Parley's idea of 'big' might be skewed, he's eyeing a lavender davenport of Reasonable Size while curling his fingers absently in Mirror's flannel. "I'm Parley. Your friend probably wouldn't know me, I only know the name because he is around my apartment complex sometimes. I like the name Micah, though." Nice warm 'mmm' and a KAH. He's slouching in a little deeper, legs stretched out from the couch and crossed at the ankles, idly -- peeking at whatever hits Mirror's friend-googlesearch might turn up. He watches, listens to whatever the quiet mental bloom shows him with a silence that's - hard? Sheltering of it? And when it folds back inward to analytical, Parley mentally lounges alongside it as though it had not happened - save that he's pressed a little /closer/ internally. "We could do herbs." He says it more quiet /gung-ho/ than suggestive. Like - they can /totally/ do herbs. Sure. Totally got that covered next. He ducks down his head, remembering to add, quieter, "It's nice to meet you, Corey." Embarrassment flowing into Corey's face, the pale skin brightening to red easily. "Oh, heh, right. I was beginning to take for granted that everyone I meets seems to know this one Micah in particular. He works in prosthetics, big heart, working on a garden?" The image of Micah helping carry a pallet of marigolds came to mind, but shaking his head he tries to recover from a moment of social idiocy. Seeing where Parley was looking, he gestured to the back. "There's also a kind of a magenta one over in the corner, but its kinda vinyl and seventies style. I wouldn't really consider it comfortable." Frowning, his thoughts grasped the seventies concept and he says "You can also get a sofa cover in violet. Then it doesn't matter what color couch you do find as long as it is comfortable. Looking to his watch, Corey let out a sigh. "I guess I'm going to have to find a new chair another day. I had some things I needed to get done still." Not having really seen anything here, he wasn't too perturbed at least. "It was nice to meet you both. I do hope you find the appropriate infamous couch and art." Giving a warm smile to both of them, his hand rose in a little wave. "Good luck, and a pleasant day then" he says as he navigates out through the maze of furniture. Joshua just shrugs, notveryhelpfully, in response to Corey's description of Micah. Inwardly there is a twinge of recognition when prosthetics are mentioned, but outwardly: shrug. "Lots of Micahs," he says again, a little distant. His internal friendshipsearch is drawing inconclusive results. Vague snippets of people breaking them out of cages, vague snippets of people sharing their food, vague snippets of other-people's-borrowed-lives full of travels together and board games and sports games and dinner gatherings and all of these snippets leave him vaguely /dissatisfied/ with the answers they give (or fail to give.) In the end, his mind settles on a drink label, on a wall. "-- They make couches out of vinyl?" He seems /so/ fascinated by this. Fascinated enough that he sits up abruptly, curling a hand around Parley's to /tug/ Parley up off the couch too. "We need it." For Corey he gives a nod. Polite nod, pleasant nod. /Distracted/ nod because Magenta Vinyl Couch has apparently grasped his mind as the most important piece of furniture they could possibly have. "I could be a Micah," he muses. Thoughtful. "That's a good name." Parley clings to Joshua's arm with both hands, accepting the ride back to his feet as though it had been choreographed: "Let's get it." He hasn't even seen the couch yet. But he's in, glancing from Joshua's face and then to Corey's departing back, "Good luck." He slips in alongside, if slightly behind Joshua to follow him into the bowels of the little shop, hands lapped behind his back and eyes roving the ceiling. "Then. Today, I'll call you Micah." It's said easily - and, as ever, 'Micah' translates softly to so many little things: << (confining walls and a shared tight space)(shifting masks over an elusive watchful face beneath them)(a chameleon mind slipping through tapestries of temperament and collages of consciousness) >> So, essentially, just << (you). >>