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Old 01-04-2011 at 04:19 AM
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OOC: M&M Trial Living Together. BIC:

Madeleine de Chandon

“Please… don’t be dead…”

Madeleine de Chandon stared hopelessly at the aquarium, trying to squint through the murky green water. She didn’t know much about fish food, but until today, she never once thought it would turn the water weird colors. Or smell so strongly of bleach. Okay, okay. So at this point, Madeleine realized that the canister she’d picked up and dumped into Myron’s fish tank had been filled with Comet cleaning solution. But… That stuff didn’t actually kill fish, did it? It would just, like, turn them into alien-looking mutants like the lake-fish by Chernobyl. Extra eyes, tumor-y lumps… Y’know. Alien-ish.

[i]And then they’d fit in with the rest of Myron’s stupid, space-themed bathroom,{/i] she thought, reaching out to tap the glass.

His whole house screamed Man Cave. Sure, it was cool every now and then to spend a night here, but honestly? Living here was so, unbelievably out of the question. It needed a woman’s touch. But right now, Myron’s apartment was kind of suffocating in Madeleine’s death-grip of doom. She’d already tried cooking in his huge, professional-styled kitchen. Between the crazy appliances and Madeleine’s inherent lack of talent, that had been a disaster. And now, she was feeding Myron’s fish—just like he asked!—and they might all be dead or radioactive. Suddenly a little blip of orange caught her eye. Madeleine’s face brightened as she drew nearer the toilet-fish-tank to see better. But the little goldfish wasn’t swimming happy figure-eights around its tank. It lolled on its back and floated up to the top. Madeleine’s face fell and she pressed her forehead against the glass.

“Damn it…” she groaned. “Why are you dead?”

She sighed and watched as Fish Number Two followed in suit.

“Maybe… I can get him new fish…”

Fish Number Three went belly up.

“And he won’t notice…!”

It was a plan. Not a confident one, but… Hey. They were just goldfish. They were all the same; all interchangeable. Right? Of course. So all Madeleine had to do now… was find a late-night pet store and buy Myron a shload of new goldfish. Yes. It was a plan.
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Old 01-04-2011 at 04:39 AM
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Myron Bolitar

Who was the arsshole that put the letter 's' in lisp?

It was the mind boggling question Myron Bolitar had been asking himself from the midnight thirty drive home from work. It was the only thing keeping him awake at this point. Because, seriously, what jerk did that? Oh, hello. You have a speech problem? Here, lets make it harder by making your problem, a problem to say for you! Alright, so welcome to pathetic land, but he was desperately exhausted, and needed a mind boggler. It wasn't until halfway home, Myron realized that he needn't be thinking up bogglers, because he would be arriving home to a boggling human being, Madeleine. It was a thought that made his grip on the steering wheel a little more tight, and his foot press harder on the gas pedal. Coming home to Madeleine, made his chest swell up. Not in that ultimate flex, that said, look I'm a man, here are my moobs to prove it, (moobs breakdown: man boobs) , but a tingly fuzzy feeling, that made him feel like one of those demonic care bears.

Ba- Beep.

Myron locked his car, sliding the keys into his sweater jacket pocket, lifting up his briefcase, and heading toward the front door. Home sweet home. It was sweeter knowing that another human being would be on the other side of the door. As heavy as his eyes felt, as mushy as his bones felt- he would be happy to be with his soon to be wife tonight. It was different. The only other person Myron Bolitar had ever lived with, were his parents and grandparents. He didn't do that whole, roomie thing. They got 'bros for life', and that wasn't Myron's style. He didn't have a brother, and didn't want fake ones either. Living with himself was a task. So, Madeleine moving in, was different, but completely his idea. It just seemed, right. They were getting married, they would have to at some point. Myron was sure thats how it went. There had to be a written law somewhere about it. He just wanted to do this whole marriage jargin right.

Leaning his forehead into the front door, Myron shoved the key into the hole, shutting his eyes for a moment. Not to be the celebrity on those interviews that complain about their lives being difficult, or one of those snobby ass heiresses who complain about only having four corvettes from daddy, but being the man that he was, was friggin tiring sometimes. From, ballerinas who were in dyer need of Whoppers, from Rouge owning-ness, to dumb clients who just want their 'moment' to shine, to Rouge performers 'Mr. Bolitar'ing him all day- It made Myron want to smash someone's face into a big vat of hungry alligators, who couldn't- Okay. Tiredness, making him get all odd metaphor esque. It was time to just, open the damn door.Because, he was home now, and all was alright with the world. He was just hoping that, Madeleine wasn't too horny tonight. He wasn't quite sure as to what his performance level would be like tonight.

"Honey!" Myron burst open the door, dropping his suitcase on the floor, and turning to lock the door. "I'm home!" Rolling his eyes at himself, he shook his head. "Not to sound like a re-run of Leave it to Beaver or anything.."

It was cliche, but it was better than, 'Bitc* I'm home, make me a sandwich.'


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Old 01-04-2011 at 04:55 AM
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Madeleine de Chandon

She set the Comet down and wiped her hands off on her jeans. Perfect plan. Excellent plan. Wonderful, brilliant, beautiful plan! She just had to hurry because pretty soon Myron would—

"Honey! I'm home!"

-- be screaming “Honey, I’m home!” from the entryway. She glared at the fish tank, knowing full-well that if Myron found them, she too would be dead enough to flush down a toilet. Sure, to Madeleine, fish were interchangeable. And, yeah, if she’d replaced them, Myron might not have noticed. But if he saw his poisoned pets… He’d be pissed.

"Not to sound like a re-run of Leave it to Beaver or anything…"

Madeleine laughed—a little higher-pitched than usual—and grabbed the nearest towel. She draped the towel over the fish tank.

“There,” she muttered under her breath. “He’ll never notice.”

She went into the hall and made her way to wrap her arms around Myron. He looked tired. Handsome, but… Okay. The guy ran the Moulin Rouge and his own Talent Agency. If he didn’t look a little tired, Madeleine would be concerned. She smiled up at him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she said, kissing him lightly on the lips. “How was work?”

Yeah… That’s it. Let’s make this a perfectly normal little domesticky scene and BAM! The fish problem will sort itself out… Somehow…
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Old 01-04-2011 at 05:09 AM
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Myron Bolitar

Myron almost called Walt to make sure he didn't drop one of his Disney characters into his home, when he heard a hyena Lion King sounding laugh coming from the other room. He paused in mid suitcase pickup, furrowing his brows, and side glancing down the hallway. Alrighty, then. It was a laugh from Madeleine that he rarely ever heard, and one that was a little too laughy. Don't get him wrong, he was funny, but not that funny, and Madeleine, as lovely as she was, was not one to boost his humor ego as everyone else did. It could have been classified as odd behavior, but when the beauty came down the hall to him, Myron smiled for the first time today, and dropped his suitcase that he had just picked up. Nah, he was just being a tardo.

"Hey, sweetheart." He kissed her back, snaking his hands around her waist. Somehow, her lips always managed to taste good, and she always seemed to look good. Myron would never understand womanly secrets. But, then again, understanding might just scare the living hell out of him.

"How was work?" Myron winced at the question, his arms falling limp at his sides, and he shut his eyes. It was all going to perfect, until that dooming glooming question. They were not going to be that couple. Such a cliche' question, such a question that made him want to just wince, because as far as he was concerned, work did not exist in his sanctum. "Rule." He said, bringing his hands up to where hers were around him, and bringing them down to his chest to hold against there. He smirked looking at her, "Ask me anything, ask me everything, but do not ask me about work when I come home."

Myron snaked a hand around to the back of her head gently, pressing their lips together. It was so nice to have Madeleine here. "I'm going to get settled, take a turd, and then I want to hear about your day, okay?"


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Old 01-04-2011 at 06:01 AM
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Madeleine de Chandon

Maybe he’d launch into a post-work rant. He could tell her everything and anything about work right now and it was all good, just as long as he kept on talking and didn’t go to into the bathroom. The feeling of Myron’s hands against her made Madeleine so happy that she could almost forget about how she’d killed Nemo, Dory, and all their fishy friends.

"Rule." He said, bringing his hands up to where hers were around him, and bringing them down to his chest to hold against there. He smirked looking at her, "Ask me anything, ask me everything, but do not ask me about work when I come home."

“All right,” Madeleine murmured, nuzzling her head into the crook of his neck by his shoulder.

Myron could have gotten her to pledge anything right now as long as he didn’t discover the little toxic lake she’d accidentally created in his bathroom. He pulled her into a kiss and Madeleine wondered if maybe, tired equaled horny and they could skip past the bathroom and hit the bedroom where she could distract him to exhaustion and then creep out to bury (or, in this case, flush) the tiny, orange corpses.

"I'm going to get settled, take a turd, and then I want to hear about your day, okay?"

“You can’t!” she blurted, pressing her hands to his chest. “The toilet is… broken. I’m having a plumber come out first thing in the morning.”
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Old 01-04-2011 at 06:49 AM
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Myron Bolitar

"You can't!"

Woah there, hold the phone. Myron looked down at his all too, in a rush to keep him from turding, and clinging onto chest for dear life, soon to be bride, and did a look that asked, what the hell was her deal? Telling Myron Bolitar that he could not turd was like, telling a nun that she could not check out Father John. It was inappropriate. If a man could not turd in his own home, then what hope was there for human kind? If a nun couldn't hit on the priest, what hope was their for anyone's sex life?

“The toilet is… broken. I’m having a plumber come out first thing in the morning.”

Myron noticed how there was a pause after- 'the toilet is'. He also noticed how big of deal this was to her, and how it really shouldn't be, if that were the actual case. Call him lawyer Bolitar, or kewl CSI agent that kicks major ass in the show, but Madeleine was, hiding something.She was acting fishy. But, that was just dumb. He was just tired. Toilet issues were normal, going to the bathroom was not a big deal. How was there some big problem to do to hide about that? Oh. Wait. Now he got it.

Gently, he smiled at her. "You dropped a big one didn't you?" Oh, women. So much trying to be perfect, non-stink producing gems. "It's okay," He chuckled, brushing his hand on her cheek. Madeleine plugging up to the toilet and screwing it up, was not a big issue. It was actually cute, watching her try to hide it from him. She probably didn't want him upset or something, and was trying to make the move in flawless. But, like he was about to say, and the best book of all time said- "Everyone poops."

Brushing past her, he headed down the hall. "I can probably fix it myself."


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Old 01-05-2011 at 02:21 AM
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Madeleine de Chandon

For a second, Myron looked like he was thinking. Madeleine held her breath. She hadn’t paused for a whole minute or something super suspicious. He could just go with it, go use a neighbor’s or a local store’s or something and voila! In the morning, the fish would be replaced and the toilet would be “fixed”. Madeleine bit back a pout. She was getting to that point where she would poof out her lips a little, and bat her large, brown eyes cutely at Myron with a slightly sultry “please?” But Myron started to smile.

"You dropped a big one didn't you?"

Madeleine blinked in surprise. What?

"It's okay," Myron continued, chuckling and stroking Madeleine’s cheek. He chuckled, brushing his hand on her cheek. "Everyone poops."

She almost protested. Not that everyone didn’t poop. But this wasn’t about bodily functions. This was about keeping Myron out of that bathroom to prevent his heart from breaking at the sight of all his dead fish friends. But telling Myron “no” right now wouldn’t do much good. And then he began walking down the hall.

"I can probably fix it myself."

“Oh, sweetie,” Madeleine purred, trying a new tactic as she went down the hall after him. She snaked her arms up his back and began to massage. It was time for Plan C. Distraction. “It’s so cute that you want to play Mr. Fix-It for me, but aren’t you tired? God, you’re tense… How about you just relax tonight… I can work all these knots and kinks out…”
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Old 01-05-2011 at 02:55 AM
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Myron Bolitar

"Oh, sweetie." If her massaging arms hadn't stopped him from his walk down the hall, that would have. Sweetie? Madeleine said many a things, at many a moment, to many a people. But, sweetie? Myron Bolitar side glanced over his shoulder, feeling a cavity come on from how, sweet, she was acting. Not to sound like a broken record or anything, but it really was turning into a demonic Leave it to Beaver episode. Damn, he really was sounding like a broken record with this comparison. It was his irritated asshole, that needed to produce a block of waste, that was blocking his creative genius.

But, the too-sweet cavity inflicting Madeleine, was not finished yet.

"It’s so cute that you want to play Mr. Fix-It for me," For her? Hold the phone. His ass begs to differ. Sure, he loved Madeleine, but he wouldn't be the hero plumber for her, but for the sake of his vibrating butt cheeks against his jeans. "but aren’t you tired? God, you’re tense… How about you just relax tonight… I can work all these knots and kinks out-" He shut his eyes for a second, not being able to enjoy her massage, although it clearly was a distraction from the toilet problems. But the almost eye shut, turned into an eye roll. What the hell was going on here?

Twisting around, and grabbing ahold of her wrists, Myron looked at her seriously. "Madeleine." Then he smirked, shaking his head. "You don't have to be all embarrassed with me. There will be a lot of times like this." Hopefully, not too many times where he has to approach Madeleine's junk, and fix the toilet. But, it was what it was. It all couldn't be pretty.

"Lets have a look-"

Spinning to the bathroom, Myron Bolitar stared at the toilet in complete horror. The Psycho themed music, when he slaughters her in the shower, began blaring into his ear drums. Because, looking at his dead fish in the toilet seat, was how he felt. Like, someone had just stabbed him in the bathroom, when in actuality, someone stabbed his fishies. "Oh, Christ!" Myron cried out, going to the toilet with round eyes, and plopping onto the seat backwards to face them. His fingers tapped wildly against the glass, but nope, those belly up amphibians were gone. Done for. Off to fish heaven. "Goober?" He said, looking at Goober the fish, and then gazing toward the top left, "McGroober?" And then a gasp came from him, not being able to bear the image. The water was all murky, and chlorinated? What in the-

Madeleine. He had asked her to do this one thing. That was all she had to do, while he was gone for the day! Not tot, plow the back forty with toe clippers. Not, recite Einstein's journal, and actually understand it all. No. Just, feed the friggin' fish! But no. She decided to have an amphibian Holocaust with his pets.

Standing up slowly with an unhinged jaw, Myron swallowed, not saying anything, but just looking at his little gilled buddies, that were no more. "What was your plumber gunna' do to fix this, huh?" He asked in a cruel murmur, spinning around toward the bathroom entrance, at his soon to be wife, that was Adolf Fishler in disguise.


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Old 01-06-2011 at 06:30 PM
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Madeleine de Chandon

Uh-oh… She was rusty. Myron wasn’t buying it and when he turned around to take hold of Madeleine’s wrists, it was all the Frenchwoman could do to keep from squirming away and trying yet another tactic. There was no way she was letting Myron see the Goldfish Massacre that awaited him in the bathroom.

"Madeleine." His voice and face, which had been serious, started to melt into a smirk. "You don't have to be all embarrassed with me. There will be a lot of times like this."

God, I hope not.

Because if Madeleine killed Myron’s fish every time she tried to feed them, they’d go bankrupt by purchasing replacements.

"Lets have a look-"

“No!”

But Madeleine’s protest went unheard as Myron went into the bathroom. She froze, holding her breath and waiting for Myron’s shriek of horror.

"Oh, Christ!"

Madeleine peeked into the bathroom and watched as Myron tapped at the glass frantically.

That’s not going to resurrect the dead…


"Goober? McGroober?"

Madeleine’s first thought: Aww… Myron sounds so pitiful.

Madeleine’s second thought: Wow… What dumb names.

Madeleine’s third thought: Oh… Sh*t.

It had been an accident, but the fish homicide was pretty much all her fault. And it didn’t matter how dumb the names were, the fish had clearly meant something to Myron. Killing them probably didn’t make Madeleine his favorite person in the world right now. He was about to be mad. And Madeleine’s arguments that pets weren’t people or that it hadn’t been done maliciously weren’t going to matter. He was moving as though in slow motion and if Madeleine wasn’t paralyzed with something like fear, she could have outrun him and just gone home.

Myron turned to face her, and he looked as creepy as any fish. Big, unblinking eyes. Open mouth. This wasn’t her boyfriend as she knew him. This was Myron, upset and shocked. He wasn’t laughing it off. (She hadn’t expected him to). He wasn’t saying, “C’est la vie” and moving on. (Madeleine would have; she wasn’t an animal-person).

"What was your plumber gunna' do to fix this, huh?" Myron said in a low, frightening voice.

Madeleine swallowed hard.

Get a grip. He’s still Myron. He asked you to marry him. Not his fish.

“Actually… I was going to fix it myself. I know that you loved--” She paused, trying not to laugh at the silliness of the fish names. “--Goober and McGroober, but, I was going to get you new fish. Y’know, as an I’m-sorry-I-accidentally-fed-your-fish-Comet present.”
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Old 02-10-2011 at 07:42 AM
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Santiago Ortiz

Santiago didn’t know how long he stayed in the catwalk. He didn’t trust his legs for ages to carry him down the ladder. He didn’t trust himself near the edge, either. He sat in the center of the platform, his knees drawn to his chest. He buried his head there and for the first time months, Santiago felt something. He felt more than something.

He felt thankful he was alone in the Populaire. Tears flowed freely from his dark eyes and he knew that if anyone could see him like this, the other facets of his life were as over as his relationship with Rachel.

He felt stupid. He’d let her walk away. Where was the impassioned man from last year who would have slid down the ladder after her, spun her into an open-mouthed kiss, and murmured fervent words of adoration?

He felt alone. Rachel wasn’t coming back. She wouldn’t wait for him. She was gone. And when Santiago made it home, he was sure her clothes and things would be, too. The bed would still smell like her and he’d cling to the sheets like a drowning man.

He felt angry. Why wouldn’t she wait? Didn’t she love him? He wanted to postpone this—or take it all back—to keep from hurting her. Why didn’t she want the same thing?

He felt sick. Had he really mistaken fear for falling out of love?

He felt like a *******. Had he really kept a straight face?

He felt suicidal.

And Santiago was scared.

He didn’t trust himself. He’d cut off the one source of positivity in his life and—as fate would have it—his melancholy did not ease up. If anything, he felt worse than numb. He always said he’d rather feel something than nothing at all. Why had he said that? That was wrong. That was masochistic. Because this hurt. It ached. It tortured. And Santiago would do anything to keep from hurting like this. He’d take a return to numbness, even. He’d take death. He’d take anything over this.

There was a gun on his hip. It was always there. It was always loaded. One flick of the safety and one pull of the trigger would be all it took. He wouldn’t have to put up with feeling. He wouldn’t have to put up with numbness. He would just be gone for good. It was tempting.

But what if Hell is real?

What if Rachel turns around and comes back?


He’d felt like this only one other time in his life. Gisele was fresh in the grave and it was his fault. Twenty year old Santiago sought comfort in a near stranger’s arms by the railroad tracks. The sweet release of alcohol and sex lasted just long enough to blur his mind. But the hangover and regrets hadn’t been worth it. He’d gone back to being numb then. He sought adrenaline highs of a life in the fast and unpaved lane. And he wasn’t fool enough to make the same mistake twice. This time, he’d do what he should have done long before he met Rachel. He sat up and reached for his holster—

No.

There was a small, but adamant voice in the back of his mind. Santiago’s hand froze.

You’d just hurt her even more. Do you really want that?

Santiago didn’t know what he wanted, but he knew what he didn’t want. He didn’t trust himself, but there was one person in all of Paris he trusted no matter what.

And his name wasn’t Rachel Day.

Santiago scrambled down the catwalk ladder and out into the cold, February air. He mounted his motorcycle helmetless and rode off into the night. The icy wind stung his eyes and cheeks and Santiago knew he was breaking the speed limit. He was beyond caring. If he hit a patch of ice, it almost didn’t matter. But he didn’t skid out of control. He drove to an apartment complex on the ritzier side of town and threw his bike into park. He dashed into the building and up the stairs. Then, he pounded on the door.

Myron Bolitar was his best friend. And Santiago needed him now. Santiago Ortiz, who needed no one needed Myron to take away his gun and assure him that—somehow—he would win Rachel back and recapture the heady first days of loving her. Santiago pounded on the door even more furiously than before.

He hurt all over. His eyes, swollen and red were dry for now, but Santiago knew that couldn’t last long. He could feel more tears welling up behind his wide eyes, hot and wet. The slushy streets had muddied the hems of his jeans and the break-neck speed he’d driven to Myron’s had his hair wind-tossed and disheveled. He looked like he felt. Broken, frantic, half-crazed. Santiago didn’t fall apart like this. He just didn’t. He didn’t even crack just a little. At least, he hadn’t before now. If he could catch his reflection now, Santiago wouldn’t recognize himself. Rachel wouldn’t have recognized him. Myron might not. But that didn’t matter. Santiago needed Myron. He needed to make this better. He needed to get Rachel back and with her hand in his, figure out the direction of his life. He clawed at his hair and slammed his forehead against the door.

“Por favor a Dios….” he begged. “Let him be home…”
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