a hard day's work [pierce]

[CARMINE WHELKER]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,480px,true][atrb=cellpadding,10px,true][atrb=cellspacing,10px,true][atrb=align,center] street fighting man WHERE I LIVE THE GAME TO PLAY IS COMPROMISE SOLUTION WORDS: idk too lazy to count, TAGS: pierce, SONG by the stones, NOTES: I hope this is a good post, I'm feeling kind of lazy~. After pulling an all-nighter at work and basically spending two days straight straining his eyes at the computer, as one can imagine, Carmine was done, finished. This next weekly issue of The Local was one day late for the printers, the issue coming out tomorrow morning, Sunday, but they had barely made it. With a groan, Carmine recalled the circle of editors in the conference room, staying up late despite grogginess and a broken coffee machine and no intern. (If they wanted coffee, one of them had to go get it themselves from Starbucks, usually Carmine because he was the newest on the editing team, or they had to go all the way downstairs and get shitty coffee in shitty small foam cups.) Granted, this wasn't the first all-nighter for the newspaper, and certainly wouldn't be the last, unfortunately, but damn-it, Carmine was tired and needed far much more caffiene to do that again in the future. Carmine checked his watch: 8:30 P.M.. Well, it could have been latter, though as he passed by the cottage rental's owner, he saw that the head cabin had most of its lights out. Sighing, Carmine approached his cottage - "Seashell", with a little painted lightning whelk under his door sign, - and dug around in his messenger bag for the key. It took him far longer than he wanted to find his sort-of misplaced key, but impatience aside, a least he eventually found it in one of the front pockets. He used the key to open the door, pushing it open only gently because the door was very loose on its hinges, and often opened wide at only the slightest force. (One day, he would have to fix that, it was just too much of a security thing, but God not right now, so exhausted.) Carmine had barely closed the door behind him when he began stripping off his jacket and turtleneck, chucking the articles of clothing onto the table by the lamp without a care for how his nicest clothes would get crinkled. He didn't bother turning on any fixtures: the light might blind his red-rimmed eyes anyway. Getting home, everything had a sort of surreal, new quality to it, as if he looked at his king bed and the paneled walls and the window over his pillow for the first time. He felt incredibly aware to every detail of every object, yet numbed to the observations that required detail. Like a zombie, Carmine rubbed at his itching eyes and set his glasses on the table. Too tired to take off his jeans, Carmine trudged across the floor to the side of his bed. Jesus, the bed looked so beautiful, so plush. Just seeing the creamy covers made him want to lay down in them and envelop himself in his comforter. Carmine lifted the edge of the comforter, set his knee against the mattress, and was about to lay down when a lump on the other side of his bed turned over to face him. Carmine's immediate instinct was to scramble away to his phone and call the police about some sick pervert stranger sleeping in his cottage, and the next second, the reality hit him. That's right, Pierce was here. Why did Carmine not expect for the dog shifter to be bumming off of him tonight? Of course, his lack of attention was the real issue. Still, what was Pierce doing still up? If Carmine weren't such a generous zombie, he'd be ready and willing to kick him out for the night. He just wanted all of the bed space he could get this time. THIS TEMPLATE WAS MADE BY COMATOSE OF ON THE EDGE!