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OOM: William Evans Visits Miami
May. 26th, 2012 10:10 pmMichael's on his way to the door, his polo shirt and jeans dusty from training with Duncan and a lasso out by the stables most of the morning and a pair of new work gloves hanging out of his pocket already showing signs of wear. He's got a lot on his mind, not the least of which is a small list of items he's on his way to retrieve before heading out to Ellen's world again to fight robots - because that's something that happens now that Milliways has become a considerable part of his life. Spy, cowboy, futuristic robot slayer... why the hell not. Sure beats posing as another millionaire playboy looking to score hot guns.
But then there's also the question of if he should go ahead and start working on the matter of finding this spy that's responsible for his burn notice before the guy finds him... assuming they don't already have a target on his back when he goes through the door.
It's those thoughts that make it so he doesn't even see William when he brushes past him; "Excuse me..." he mutters in a soft, distracted tone - not stopping his steady steps.
But then there's also the question of if he should go ahead and start working on the matter of finding this spy that's responsible for his burn notice before the guy finds him... assuming they don't already have a target on his back when he goes through the door.
It's those thoughts that make it so he doesn't even see William when he brushes past him; "Excuse me..." he mutters in a soft, distracted tone - not stopping his steady steps.
Posted On The Board at Milliways:
May. 9th, 2012 12:05 am
[ooc: Looking to take Michael to other worlds for action and adventure and who knows what else. Up for pretty much anything, feel free to utilize any of his spy skills. Contact IC through any means you like to negotiate terms... including payment, unless it's sort of an emergency or you need a favor. He's not heartless.]
OOM: Millways Room 15 with Emma, Take Two
Apr. 27th, 2012 08:27 pmIt's been a long couple days and frankly Michael's not ready to go back to Miami. All he can think about is making things right with Emma, fixing the good thing they have as best he can. After stopping at the bar for a much needed beer he fished a napkin out of his pocket and left Emma a note to come find him.
After a long shower, where he manages to wash away as much evidence of the fire as he can - leaving behind only pink skin that could be a sunburn and singed eyebrows to go with his rough throat and aching chest - he puts on a clean t-shirt and boxers, and then curls up with his pillow and blanket for some much needed rest until she (hopefully) comes to see him.
After a long shower, where he manages to wash away as much evidence of the fire as he can - leaving behind only pink skin that could be a sunburn and singed eyebrows to go with his rough throat and aching chest - he puts on a clean t-shirt and boxers, and then curls up with his pillow and blanket for some much needed rest until she (hopefully) comes to see him.
OOM: Lady Troubles
Apr. 11th, 2012 10:16 amAfter dropping Emma off, Michael doesn't go home right away. The Charger cuts through pre-dawn traffic with no particular direction, slowly rolling past palm trees, bodegas, warehouses and nightclubs - none of which he particularly cares to see.
It's not supposed to feel like this. He's not supposed to feel like this. They've known each other all of two weeks - one brush with death and sleeping together shouldn't make it feel like he's been kicked in the chest to watch her walk away. One night stands happen, a physical connection to deal with stress and anxiety and feel close to someone for a little bit before breaking ties.
That wasn't what happened. It wasn't supposed to happen.
Both the fuel tank and his energy running close to empty, when he finally returns to the loft the sun's coming up. He climbs up to the platform overlooking his bed - he can't sleep when the sheets smell like her - and collapses on the sofa until it's too hot to sleep anymore.
When he wakes again, it's almost one and his empty stomach reminds him that he hasn't eaten more than a cup of yogurt in the last two days. As he remedies that with another cup of yogurt over the sink he realizes he's not the only one who's probably not looking their best.
As expected, Sam doesn't answer his phone, but Michael leaves a message anyway; "Hey, uh... Sam. Up for a two mojito lunch? Come by the loft."
Seems like as good a time as any to break out the heavybag and beat the crap out of his fists.
It's not supposed to feel like this. He's not supposed to feel like this. They've known each other all of two weeks - one brush with death and sleeping together shouldn't make it feel like he's been kicked in the chest to watch her walk away. One night stands happen, a physical connection to deal with stress and anxiety and feel close to someone for a little bit before breaking ties.
That wasn't what happened. It wasn't supposed to happen.
Both the fuel tank and his energy running close to empty, when he finally returns to the loft the sun's coming up. He climbs up to the platform overlooking his bed - he can't sleep when the sheets smell like her - and collapses on the sofa until it's too hot to sleep anymore.
When he wakes again, it's almost one and his empty stomach reminds him that he hasn't eaten more than a cup of yogurt in the last two days. As he remedies that with another cup of yogurt over the sink he realizes he's not the only one who's probably not looking their best.
As expected, Sam doesn't answer his phone, but Michael leaves a message anyway; "Hey, uh... Sam. Up for a two mojito lunch? Come by the loft."
Seems like as good a time as any to break out the heavybag and beat the crap out of his fists.
OOM: Welcome to Miami, Emma
Apr. 1st, 2012 01:52 pmIt'd been a strange day already and things were just getting started for Michael. Thankfully his hangover had abated over the course of his unexpected bartending shift and by the time he'd served his last cup of yogurt he was ready to get the ball rolling in Miami.
He took the stairs quickly, almost silent when he turned his key in the lock and opened the door to his room. And just like he'd expected, she was in his bed nestled against the soft pillows with her eyes closed, blonde curls pushed up against her face. She wore the innocence that someone can really only pull off while sleeping, that perfect moment where there is no worry, no considering the next move, only blissful peace. It would be easy to slip into bed beside her, to kiss her again - bold faced and sober and buying in to what part of him really did want to do.
Of course, he wasn't that guy. He wouldn't betray her trust or risk pushing something she didn't want. Instead, he knocked loudly on the door and said; "Emma? We should get ready."
He took the stairs quickly, almost silent when he turned his key in the lock and opened the door to his room. And just like he'd expected, she was in his bed nestled against the soft pillows with her eyes closed, blonde curls pushed up against her face. She wore the innocence that someone can really only pull off while sleeping, that perfect moment where there is no worry, no considering the next move, only blissful peace. It would be easy to slip into bed beside her, to kiss her again - bold faced and sober and buying in to what part of him really did want to do.
Of course, he wasn't that guy. He wouldn't betray her trust or risk pushing something she didn't want. Instead, he knocked loudly on the door and said; "Emma? We should get ready."
OOM: Milliways Room 15
Mar. 28th, 2012 01:20 pmAfter their quick walk, Michael let Emma lead the way back to the bar. He hasn't been up to his room since the apocalypse, but unsurprisingly it's exactly as he'd left it - looking vaguely like every single mid-range hotel room in Miami. A comfortable double bed occupies the center of the room with a small table and two chairs off to one side. Immediately beside the table is a minifridge on top of a small counter sporting a two-cup coffee maker and an unopened bottle of whiskey with two fresh tumblrs. Along the other side of the room is a small closet that Michael hopes still has a fresh change of clothes and assorted odds and ends he needed at one point or another.
"Feel free to make yourself at home," he smiles as he unlocks and then pushes open the door. "It's not much, but it's private and comfortable."
Pacing inside, he does a visual check on autopilot - confirming everything is where it should be (the whiskey being a nice and welcome touch, the bottle had been empty and wine the last time he left) and no nasty surprises were waiting.
"Do you mind if I..." he's already shouldering off his dirty, torn jacket; "put on something a little less destroyed?"
"Feel free to make yourself at home," he smiles as he unlocks and then pushes open the door. "It's not much, but it's private and comfortable."
Pacing inside, he does a visual check on autopilot - confirming everything is where it should be (the whiskey being a nice and welcome touch, the bottle had been empty and wine the last time he left) and no nasty surprises were waiting.
"Do you mind if I..." he's already shouldering off his dirty, torn jacket; "put on something a little less destroyed?"
OOM: Ticket To Ride... A Horse
Mar. 19th, 2012 09:12 pmMeeting Miss Kate was a bit of a surprise, not that he didn't expect to meet a woman from another century in Milliways... far from it - he just didn't expect to meet a lady with a sharp tongue and a knack for horses. Which is precisely how he's found himself dressed down in a pair of worn jeans and a white t-shirt swiped from his grease stained 'working on the car' collection.
He spent the first night in Room 15 since the apocalypse... and it wasn't so bad, really. More quiet than the loft and with a far smaller chance of being woken up by gunshots in the middle of the night. When he woke just past eight o'clock - in whatever passed for local time - he felt refreshed, and dare he say it, enthusiastic about his upcoming lesson.
***
With a slightly cocky gait, he slips on his shades and procures a small picnic breakfast from the kitchen before making his way to the stables. He takes the long way around, enjoying the strange morning chill on his arms as it's warmed by the sun - such a different world from Miami where he'd be choking on smog and applying sunscreen this time of morning.
As he approaches the stable, he keeps his eyes open behind the brown lenses for first sight of his apparent instructor. "Kate?" He calls out with a gentle smile as he approaches the building; "It's Michael..."
He spent the first night in Room 15 since the apocalypse... and it wasn't so bad, really. More quiet than the loft and with a far smaller chance of being woken up by gunshots in the middle of the night. When he woke just past eight o'clock - in whatever passed for local time - he felt refreshed, and dare he say it, enthusiastic about his upcoming lesson.
***
With a slightly cocky gait, he slips on his shades and procures a small picnic breakfast from the kitchen before making his way to the stables. He takes the long way around, enjoying the strange morning chill on his arms as it's warmed by the sun - such a different world from Miami where he'd be choking on smog and applying sunscreen this time of morning.
As he approaches the stable, he keeps his eyes open behind the brown lenses for first sight of his apparent instructor. "Kate?" He calls out with a gentle smile as he approaches the building; "It's Michael..."
Milli-Verse: Things You Forget
Mar. 17th, 2012 02:13 pm It's not that happy hour wasn't exactly happy, he's getting out and meeting people... but just like in Miami, Michael seems to find the ones that cut him deep when it's the last thing he wants to think about. When he steps back through the door at the back of Carlito's, he stops for a beer only to find his wallet again empty.
When he opens the door back at home, the loft is empty and quiet - the late afternoon already draping shadows across the unmade bed and scarred floor. He retrieves the last beer from the fridge, thanks Sam for at least leaving him one, and then downs half of it before dialing the familiar number.
"Hey Mom."
"Michael? Oh God, what's wrong this time?"
"Nothing, I just wanted to see how things are going."
Madeline Westen is silent for a long moment. He can hear her light a cigarette and exhale into the receiver before she says; "All right, I'll bite... what do you need?"
"I don't need anything, can't I can't just call my mother?"
"You can, but you haven't in twenty years," she replies bitterly.
It's an exaggeration, but not by much. "Yeah, well... that's my fault."
"Well... yeah, it is." She laughs, but he knows it's her nerves more than genuine humor. "Michael, you're... you're making me a little nervous. Have you been drinking?"
"I had one drink and I'm drinking a beer, but I just wanted to make sure that everything is going fine. Is there anything you need? Do you want me to come fix anything or maybe put in that alarm system we were talking about? Maybe I could pick up something at the store..." He's rambling, he knows it but he can't stop the flow of words - it's the first time in a long time he's been forced to remember that he's more than a spy.
"Michael! Stop it, you're scaring me!" Her voice pitches up and he stops mid though, swallowing back his emotions with another large slug of cheap beer. "What's gotten into you?"
It takes a minute, but he restrains himself - once more the stoic voice and calm mind. "Sorry... I've just... I was thinking about you and, uh... Nate and how things are going."
"It's fine, Michael... you know that. We make do."
"I know," he replies quietly, they always have. Even in the worst of times the Westens have made do.
She exhales loudly against the receiver again; "Actually, since I've got you on the phone... you think you could give a friend of mine a call? She's worried about her grandson..."
Of course she is. "Sure," he agrees, clearly more quickly than she had expected he would; "what's the number?"
When he opens the door back at home, the loft is empty and quiet - the late afternoon already draping shadows across the unmade bed and scarred floor. He retrieves the last beer from the fridge, thanks Sam for at least leaving him one, and then downs half of it before dialing the familiar number.
"Hey Mom."
"Michael? Oh God, what's wrong this time?"
"Nothing, I just wanted to see how things are going."
Madeline Westen is silent for a long moment. He can hear her light a cigarette and exhale into the receiver before she says; "All right, I'll bite... what do you need?"
"I don't need anything, can't I can't just call my mother?"
"You can, but you haven't in twenty years," she replies bitterly.
It's an exaggeration, but not by much. "Yeah, well... that's my fault."
"Well... yeah, it is." She laughs, but he knows it's her nerves more than genuine humor. "Michael, you're... you're making me a little nervous. Have you been drinking?"
"I had one drink and I'm drinking a beer, but I just wanted to make sure that everything is going fine. Is there anything you need? Do you want me to come fix anything or maybe put in that alarm system we were talking about? Maybe I could pick up something at the store..." He's rambling, he knows it but he can't stop the flow of words - it's the first time in a long time he's been forced to remember that he's more than a spy.
"Michael! Stop it, you're scaring me!" Her voice pitches up and he stops mid though, swallowing back his emotions with another large slug of cheap beer. "What's gotten into you?"
It takes a minute, but he restrains himself - once more the stoic voice and calm mind. "Sorry... I've just... I was thinking about you and, uh... Nate and how things are going."
"It's fine, Michael... you know that. We make do."
"I know," he replies quietly, they always have. Even in the worst of times the Westens have made do.
She exhales loudly against the receiver again; "Actually, since I've got you on the phone... you think you could give a friend of mine a call? She's worried about her grandson..."
Of course she is. "Sure," he agrees, clearly more quickly than she had expected he would; "what's the number?"
Stumbling out of the dimensional door, Michael finds himself back in the silent loft. He's had entirely too much drink as he's spent the better part of a week in that state at Milliways pondering what he's doing in Miami against the backdrop of the end of the end of the universe. It's pretty Zen, really.
With a low moan, he stumbles to the foot of his bed and lets himself fall into the knotted sheets. He can smell Sam & Clementine clinging to the unwashed bedding, but he doesn't care - in the long run, it doesn't matter.
As he falls asleep, his phone gives a single low pitched chirp - the alarm to let him know his dimensional door is locked and he can't go back for who knows how long, if ever.
[ooc: Michael's in a bit of a funk, out of Milliways until after the shift - combing with the MM-verse and likely not continuing much of the TLH stuff as mun just doesn't have the time for it. Old friends, of course, always welcome. Profile and journal under construction for the next several days.]
With a low moan, he stumbles to the foot of his bed and lets himself fall into the knotted sheets. He can smell Sam & Clementine clinging to the unwashed bedding, but he doesn't care - in the long run, it doesn't matter.
As he falls asleep, his phone gives a single low pitched chirp - the alarm to let him know his dimensional door is locked and he can't go back for who knows how long, if ever.
[ooc: Michael's in a bit of a funk, out of Milliways until after the shift - combing with the MM-verse and likely not continuing much of the TLH stuff as mun just doesn't have the time for it. Old friends, of course, always welcome. Profile and journal under construction for the next several days.]
