I mean, you could have stayed at Douchebag Mannor Kara's...former place. We didn't say you couldn't. I thought you and Mr. Douche W-P were buddy buddy. Don't you work for the same, uh, douches?
Yeah, I know you didn't really kick me out. It's complicated. There was a poignant sense of "ew, don't follow us" which is perfectly understandable with the fighting and the sex and everything, and then there was the option of staying with Kara who I don't know and Darla who I don't know and is scary.
And I don't know what you mean about Pryce. He's hardly a buddy of mine. He has ties to Wolfram and Hart. I'm to avoid such influence.
Besides, this is for the best. Find a real job, Andrew. Be a grown up.
You *should* have been looking for a place as soon as we moved into Kara's. I told you that it was temporary. Apparently, you were too busy "cooking feasts" to look for your own "feast center" -- so don't start crying at me. I started looking when I was still in Minnesota.
Plus, I'm not your mealticket, and neither is Warren. You have a job. Take care of yourself, big guy.
Did I come crying to you? I don't think I did. I can whine on my journal all I want; no one asked you to read it. I know it was temporary. I just didn't know what temporary meant. Some things are one week temporary; other things are six months temporary. This isn't me giving up or asking for help. This is me being cranky and tired and looking at all my stuff spread out on a bed that isn't mine and turning my brain off for twenty four hours. I'm going to start looking for solutions tomorrow. But I'm not asking for help.
You do realize that I can read your journal, right? So, when you go whining about how you got "kicked out" and have no one to talk to (aside from the Warrenbot), what am I supposed to do? Assume that you're talking about some fictional character?
Anyway, my suggestion is this: enjoy your motel room. Pretend you're a rock star, or an international man of mystery. Try and hook up with someone. Give me a couple of days to get our place set up and Warren and I will have you over for dinner. Okay?
*eyeroll* Yes Tucker, I realize you are physically capable of reading my journal. Next time try not to sound like you're the only one who can. It's not a private letter, and there were no tears on your shoulder.
I'm sure my situation will be a hundred times more fun when I've eaten and slept. Possibly I shouldn't reply to snarky comments until then either. Thank you for the thoughtful suggestion.
Okay. Come down and you can see place. It is half of third floor of converted factory I live in. I must warn you, though. It is not in good part of town.
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Just call me Ms. Practicality.
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I mean, you could have stayed at Douchebag Mannor Kara's...former place. We didn't say you couldn't. I thought you and Mr. Douche W-P were buddy buddy. Don't you work for the same, uh, douches?
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And I don't know what you mean about Pryce. He's hardly a buddy of mine. He has ties to Wolfram and Hart. I'm to avoid such influence.
Besides, this is for the best. Find a real job, Andrew. Be a grown up.
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Nah. Don't do that.
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Plus, I'm not your mealticket, and neither is Warren. You have a job. Take care of yourself, big guy.
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Anyway, my suggestion is this: enjoy your motel room. Pretend you're a rock star, or an international man of mystery. Try and hook up with someone. Give me a couple of days to get our place set up and Warren and I will have you over for dinner. Okay?
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I'm sure my situation will be a hundred times more fun when I've eaten and slept. Possibly I shouldn't reply to snarky comments until then either. Thank you for the thoughtful suggestion.
Dinner sounds great. I'll bring salad.
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*Kirill can't believe he's even thinking about offering Andrew one of the flats. Kirill was fairly certain Remus was infecting him with niceness.*
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