ArchivedLogs:Vignette - Delicate
|Vignette - Delicate|
<NYC> Tessier Residence - Upstairs - Greenwich Village
The upper floor of this apartment holds the bedrooms; one master bedroom and three smaller ones. One has been converted to a lounge, couches and /more/ books and a large desk by its window. The other two smaller bedrooms upstairs, in strange departure from the rest of the house's style, seem decorated more with younger occupants in mind. One of them, styled largely in purples and blues, has a pair of twin beds with matching butterfly-patterned bedspreads and a similar fabric for the window curtains; a wealth of stuffed toys is neatly arranged on both. The other is very green, its bedspread green-and-black striped; the walls are covered with a host of movie posters. Between the two bedrooms stands a bathroom, cheerfully decorated with colourful mosaic fish in its tiles.
The master bedroom, in contrast to the paler, earthy scheme outside, is warm and rich, decorated in deep reds. The exquisitely crafted furniture is dark, with reddish undertones to the mahogany wood. The king-sized bed is stocked with an overabundance of pillows, and more cushions rest in the windowseat. One wall holds a spacious walk-in closet. A table, low to the ground, sits on a thick rug between the bed and the entrance, the right height for kneeling rather than chairs; the checked pattern carved into its surface marks it as a chessboard, though the pieces are not in evidence. The master bathroom adjoins the bedroom; it is large, done in black marble, with an overly spacious glass-walled shower and a similarly large jacuzzi bathtub.
The sun is streaming in through Matt's window and the birds are singing outside. He has been sleeping more or less soundly, by his standards, covers half thrown off, nude but for his boxers. When the sunlight falls across his face he grumbles softly and finally rouses enough to roll over.
Perhaps it's the sheer semi-conscious /ease/ of this maneuver that wakes him in earnest. He blinks, stretches, and reaches for the thermos that someone has thoughtfully left on his night stand. Bracing one elbow against the bed, he levers himself up--tentatively, at first, and then with more confidence--and takes long, thirsty gulps from the thermos before putting it back.
He drops his feet to the floor, brows knitting lightly. Then he take a deep breath, shifts his weight forward, and stands up--only a little shakily, and without any support. A triumphant smile blossoms across his face, pale and drawn though it is. He takes one careful step, then another, reaching out for the doorframe as he enters the bathroom but not resting any weight on it.
Seemingly sure of his footing now, he brushes his teeth, pointly not leaning on the sink, eyeing the shower speculatively all the while. This done, he bends over to strip off his shorts. The moment he picks up one foot, however, his balance fails him. His other leg buckles under his weight and drops him heavily to his knees.
He claps a hand over his mouth to keep from crying out, eyes brimming, breath shallow and fast. For a moment he's near motionless, but then he sways falls over again, legs splaying and tearing the half-shucked boxer shorts. This time he makes a gentler and more controlled crash, sitting down sideways, thumping his shoulder against the glass door to the shower, and gradually sliding down.
Then he laughs, pressing his hand harder against his mouth to stifle the noise. Sprawled out on the cool tile floor, tangled in the remains of his underwear, he laughs. Tears stream down his face and his breath comes in gasps, but he keeps laughing.