[RL: St. Michael - You have some explainin' to do!]
True to his word, Blue had shown up outside Michael's apartment dressed in nothing but blue jeans, fully intent on usurping the kitchen. The part of the plan where he forced some information out of the birdbrain? Well that was the secret secondary objective. He knocked a quick tune on the door and waited. Five minutes passed with no movement from within, so Blue tried the door. It was unlocked. Naturally. Rolling his eyes, Blue stepped through the doorway and into a wall of heat. He kicked the door closed and charged further into the apartment, opening every window he could find and managing to wrestle a box fan into one. The air wasn't cool but it was moving. Tweety wasn't home, or, if he was, he was one cooked canary.
"Tweety!" No answer. Frowning, Blue walked through the sparse apart, but Michael was well and truly not there. Shrugging off the disappointment, Blue returned to his primary objective, food. There was little in the fridge save some beer, which was Blue's, cinnamon cookie dough, also Blue's, and several plastic containers that held too many vegetables for anything to actually be edible. Freezer diving then. One microwaved frozen pizza later, Blue was sprawled out on the couch. The outdoor network was on, the volume low. There wasn't much awkward about crashing at Mikey's apartment anymore. Sometimes it felt more routine than going to his own house. Waiting had not been planned on, but he could do patience. Blue plucked at the wolf hair on the couch, ears straining to hear returning footsteps.
"Tweety!" No answer. Frowning, Blue walked through the sparse apart, but Michael was well and truly not there. Shrugging off the disappointment, Blue returned to his primary objective, food. There was little in the fridge save some beer, which was Blue's, cinnamon cookie dough, also Blue's, and several plastic containers that held too many vegetables for anything to actually be edible. Freezer diving then. One microwaved frozen pizza later, Blue was sprawled out on the couch. The outdoor network was on, the volume low. There wasn't much awkward about crashing at Mikey's apartment anymore. Sometimes it felt more routine than going to his own house. Waiting had not been planned on, but he could do patience. Blue plucked at the wolf hair on the couch, ears straining to hear returning footsteps.