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"Help, I need somebody."
Oct. 2nd, 2013 01:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
foreverfabulousWho: Paris Hart with Michael Davison
What: Beyond the call of duty
Where: Paris' apartment, NYC
When: Follows THIS
It was dark outside now and Paris was sitting curled up in an armchair by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his apartment that overlooked the city. The lights were so pretty and it was always a view that he found comforting. His legs were tucked up underneath him and he had his laptop open in front of him trying to catch up on a pile of emails that had come in that day in his and Gen's absence from the office. There was a half-spent cup of herbal beside him that he had mostly forgotten about and his cell phone was still turned down so it didn't ring loudly. The lights throughout the sprawling yet immaculately designed bachelor pad were dimmed and his eyes were beginning to sting from tiredness so he stuck his fingers beneath the rims of his glasses to rub them.
What a day. He was still feeling somewhat frazzled after all of it and his levels or worry more than tested. As soon as he got that phone call from Michael saying he had an accident, Paris' heart felt lodged somewhere up in his throat. Michael, bless his heart, had tried his best to actually reassure Paris once he got there to help. He kept saying he would be okay, that he just needed to get home to lie down, just needed something for his head. He was really shaken, though. Paris thought the poor guy had been pale at the office when he sent him home sick, but this had actually been tenfold more pallor. He had been shaking, a cut on his head bleeding, and when Paris helped him out of the car, he had stumbled to the point Paris had to catch him to keep him on his feet.
( Paris called in some back-up then... )
NARRATIVE, SCENE COMPLETE
What: Beyond the call of duty
Where: Paris' apartment, NYC
When: Follows THIS
It was dark outside now and Paris was sitting curled up in an armchair by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his apartment that overlooked the city. The lights were so pretty and it was always a view that he found comforting. His legs were tucked up underneath him and he had his laptop open in front of him trying to catch up on a pile of emails that had come in that day in his and Gen's absence from the office. There was a half-spent cup of herbal beside him that he had mostly forgotten about and his cell phone was still turned down so it didn't ring loudly. The lights throughout the sprawling yet immaculately designed bachelor pad were dimmed and his eyes were beginning to sting from tiredness so he stuck his fingers beneath the rims of his glasses to rub them.
What a day. He was still feeling somewhat frazzled after all of it and his levels or worry more than tested. As soon as he got that phone call from Michael saying he had an accident, Paris' heart felt lodged somewhere up in his throat. Michael, bless his heart, had tried his best to actually reassure Paris once he got there to help. He kept saying he would be okay, that he just needed to get home to lie down, just needed something for his head. He was really shaken, though. Paris thought the poor guy had been pale at the office when he sent him home sick, but this had actually been tenfold more pallor. He had been shaking, a cut on his head bleeding, and when Paris helped him out of the car, he had stumbled to the point Paris had to catch him to keep him on his feet.
( Paris called in some back-up then... )
NARRATIVE, SCENE COMPLETE