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houseofcards_rp2012-05-03 09:34 pm
spadeatheart.livejournal.com) wrote in houseofcards_rp2012-05-03 09:34 pm
[ota/log] That's what you get...
Hours, many hours (at least three!) after discovering the lack of decent clothing in his closet, Vincent actually left his room.
It had taken a while for him to decide on his course of action, but the most sane of his option won out in the end - and no, the winning choice hadn't been "let's go streaking", after all. Sorry to disappoint, lords and ladies.
His way of handling this situation was a far more unfashionable, unnatural and traumatizing way of handling the situation. Simple, and if he may state so, brilliant and quite possibly only something he could pull of properly.And while he is relishing in all those shiny, self-loving thoughts, he pays absolutely no mind to the fact that he could just and simply go to one of his apartments and get into some of his normal clothes.
So, what is this Eight of Spades doing?
Well, going about his business as he usually would.
Wearing the tweeds. And nothing but the tweeds.
[OOC: He can be anywhere. Like, literally anywhere in the entire Deck.]
It had taken a while for him to decide on his course of action, but the most sane of his option won out in the end - and no, the winning choice hadn't been "let's go streaking", after all. Sorry to disappoint, lords and ladies.
His way of handling this situation was a far more unfashionable, unnatural and traumatizing way of handling the situation. Simple, and if he may state so, brilliant and quite possibly only something he could pull of properly.
So, what is this Eight of Spades doing?
Well, going about his business as he usually would.
Wearing the tweeds. And nothing but the tweeds.
[OOC: He can be anywhere. Like, literally anywhere in the entire Deck.]
no subject
He'd lasted all of a week under Avery's employment before the desire to have coffee in the afternoon had grown to a craving he could no longer ignore, a craving which his boss seemed to understand and was kind enough to let him indulge in provided he get her her own, of course.
He'd been heading back, two large iced mochas with extra shots in hand when he thought he saw walking furniture approaching. He'd questioned if maybe his caffeine consumption was too high when he realized that no, it wasn't a horribly dated couch for the 70s approaching. It was a man. A man with horrifying taste. But a man.
"What loveseat did you murder to create that monstrosity?" he blurted out, before he could help himself.