fucking_ebay (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fucking_ebay) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
bigapplesauce2015-07-05 01:43 pm
fucking_ebay) wrote in bigapplesauce2015-07-05 01:43 pm
Moving right along [closed]
It's tempting -- maybe surprisingly tempting to anyone who doesn't know Peter as well as he knows himself -- to just burn it all and start over. A penthouse (not to mention an actual fucking return to the stage) should mean matching furniture and built-ins, shiny new fixtures, and all the details and decorations planned and picked down to the silk sheets and the display cases he's sure to start filling with spooky crap and detritus rare supernatural artifacts and top of the line weapons.
Unfortunately, his time in New York has made him unpleasantly practical. The rickety bed, the ratty couch, the TV Gabe brought him (alright, that's at least decent)...it will all have to do, at least to start with. He's not a headliner again yet, and he's starved himself enough months to finally start relearning how to live on a budget. That includes not taking the lazy way out and hiring movers to get his stuff from one place to another literally within a few blocks (he seriously considered it), so this morning he's boxing up the last of the odds and ends that make up his life and stinking up his old apartment with a celebratory cigar for good measure. At least there's not much -- it's a tiny apartment and he never had money, so the problem is going to be less one of bulk and more one of the penthouse probably looking fucking empty even once he's unpacked again.
Bee's due any minute, insistent as she is on helping despite it being unclear to Peter what she's getting out of it. That probably means the cigar is a bit ill-advised (he's fairly sure they're not allowed to smoke indoors at all), but he'd come across it while packing and it seemed stupid to put a lone cigar in one of the boxes. Anyway, it's not his apartment anymore, and not his problem.
Unfortunately, his time in New York has made him unpleasantly practical. The rickety bed, the ratty couch, the TV Gabe brought him (alright, that's at least decent)...it will all have to do, at least to start with. He's not a headliner again yet, and he's starved himself enough months to finally start relearning how to live on a budget. That includes not taking the lazy way out and hiring movers to get his stuff from one place to another literally within a few blocks (he seriously considered it), so this morning he's boxing up the last of the odds and ends that make up his life and stinking up his old apartment with a celebratory cigar for good measure. At least there's not much -- it's a tiny apartment and he never had money, so the problem is going to be less one of bulk and more one of the penthouse probably looking fucking empty even once he's unpacked again.
Bee's due any minute, insistent as she is on helping despite it being unclear to Peter what she's getting out of it. That probably means the cigar is a bit ill-advised (he's fairly sure they're not allowed to smoke indoors at all), but he'd come across it while packing and it seemed stupid to put a lone cigar in one of the boxes. Anyway, it's not his apartment anymore, and not his problem.