The Man Cave

[Deleted]

Myron's Man Cave
Greetings all. I'm Myron Bolitar. (yeah, ok, Myron. trust me, wasn't my choice.)
anyways, you're probably here to see what I liked to call the 'Man Cave'.
I feel slightly like I am on MTV Cribs, but feel free to invade my privacy as you please.
So, look don't touch & enjoy my luxurious man pad, that I have worked my *ss off to get.


Residing: Francesca Bolitar & Toddy St. James

Entrance
This is thee entrance. What you're gonna' see when you walk in, no big deal.
I don't really use this fireplace a lot, more of like a- grand entrance type thing.
At some point, I plan on roasting some smores... you know, that whole thing.

Living Room
My spacious & lovely living room. Where the boob tube watching happens,
& my laziness comes out. Got the cozy couch... the nice screen. I'm sure that eventually those plants are going to die.
Y'know... I don't really pay much attention to them. Don't really water em'.
Hey, we all die sometime, right?

Kitchen

This is where I get my Emeril on! BAM.
No, I really don't know how to cook. I can cook up a mean PB&J
Other than that, that island is usally covered with takeout or pizza boxes.
The curse of being a grandmother's boy for my life.

Bedroom
Now in order to have been in here, you have to be really lucky...
or utterly attractive.
This is the bedroom where I, of course, sleep.
Which I don't do often.

Bathroom
One of my favorite parts- the potty room.
I feel like this could be a Star Trek set, but I keep telling myself it's 'modern'.
I like my mirror.
Mostly the person looking back at me.

Toilet
Alright, now most people find this very 'creepy' or odd,
But!
I've always wanted a pet fish. Though, when I had them when I was little,
I would always forget to feed them.
Now, this way, I won't forget.
I'll just be doing my business as usual, as everyone does... look at the things floating around all starving,
& remember to feed them!
Plus, if they die- the toilets right there to flush them.

Closet
Besides natural beauty, this is what helps me maintain my...
Myron-ness.

Office
Now, I don't really need this, it isn't vital,
but I do use it, & I've always wanted an office like this-
because it makes me feel incredibly important.

Hot Tub
Right on my porch.
It's a hot tub.
Need I say more?

So0o0o0o yep- now that I have given you the stalker tour- Swing by. Visit sometime. Just... please don't come uninvited. That's rather annoying.

[Deleted]

Myron Bolitar



Myron Bolitar had almost forgotten that there was a woman left on his couch. Which sounded way more Hugh Hefner than it actually was unfortunately.

Fiddling with his ring, a very exhausted Myron clicked the lock button on his keys, hearing the reassuring double beep, and headed into the garage. Throwing his suit jacket over his shoulder, he paused in the middle of his garage, staring at the cracks in the pattern of the floor. It was defeat. Tonight was a defeat. Pausing, Myron winced at the realization of just how ... bla he felt. With that came the realization of just how great he was with descriptor words. It hadn't literally hit him until this pause in the ever so glamorous garage of how many pills he had taken tonight. Because was it just him or were the walls kinda' shifting? This bla-ness was not because of the pills though. If anything they weren't doing their job to rid of their bla-ness. This pause in the garage was needed. Not only because of how ... bla- ( Christ, could we do a word count of that world please?) but he needed a break from tonight's estrogen fest.

A masquerade- which was one hell of a nightmare in itself- an uncontrollable spazz attack brought to you by non other than one of his great employees, a pissed off Madeleine, a sad Madeleine, an emotional breakdown with Madeleine, a vow to Madeleine to throw himself into the world of psycho ... ology, and Myron Bolitar thought his first night back would be easy in comparison of what these past months had been. Tonight was anything but that. In fact, it made ruthless gangsters look like the next great samaritans. Myron had a 'first date' with the woman he was suppose to be married to already. How screwy was that? It was better than nothing though. Because, you know, it was hard to get a thank you nowadays for protecting someone's life.

Ooookay, someone's crabby. Time to go inside.

Myron Bolitar took one step than deathly stopped. That's when he realized he was not alone.

It came from the driveway. The loud rustling noise caused Myron to slam down his suit jacket, and grin his dress shoes against the garage floor, squeaking them as he whipped around. His heart slammed itself against his chest, and his mind felt so disjointed it felt like he could actually feel all the chemicals moving. Without a single hesitation or a thought, just the thought that he wasn't alone, Myron bent his knees in a fighting position. Shoving a hand into his vest, he whipped out his m.17 glock and pointed it at ...

A raccoon.

Myron blinked a lot. Of course. He took a good look at what he was doing and didn't know whether to laugh because that would make him a little more insane looking? Yeah, so it was one of those no one was around, but somehow he still felt really dumb and really mortified. Myron flipped off the raccoon. Because, that's also totally sane and also he just totally told that raccoon how it was.

Shoving the gun back into his vest, he unclenched his jaw muscles, but was not able to fully shake all the jitters away. Which he shouldn't. Relaxing meant vulnerability. Rubbing a hand against his bare upper chest brought to you by sweaty unbuttoned dress shirt, he felt his scar. So, lets be real here. Every kid dreamed of looking like G.I Joe with that awesome scar either on his cheek or chest. Well, at least kid version of Myron Bolitar. ( Which, wasn't much different from present day ) Well, wishes do come true.

Yeah, Myron Bolitar. Your the freaking G.I Joe of your time ...

With his fingers, he clicked the gun in his vest to safety. It would so be like him at this rate to just be a hot mess with his glock that he was finally learning how to handle. It was a much different pace from way back when when he shot his foot. Wow. Things have changed.

Tossing his suit jacket onto the floor as he walked in, Myron locked the door behind him meeting the fireplace in the entrance way. Home. It felt surreal. Was this happening, or was this a joke? Myron was waiting for Ashton to come out at any moment. He had Toddy drop off his stuff at the apartment because once he landed right in Paris it was straight to the party to find Madeleine. How freaking romantic, right?

Then he remembered once again ...

"Chianna..." Myron murmured, making his way into the living room where he had left her sleeping on the couch. Once he had finally gotten her to calm down in that hot back room of the masquerade, he insisted she go home with him. Why must everything he say seem so inappropriate? It wasn't. His mind just was. At least he didn't lose that. The pill, the exhaustion, the whatever the hell was but Myron was so thankful for- had put her to sleep. Throwing a cozy fur blanket over her, he left her a note saying, well, more demanding, that she do not leave until he gets back. Yeah, so she could have totally left and there was nothing he could do about it, he knew that. Chianna wasn't his princess that he was keeping in his tower or whatever. She was far from being a princess in the sense of, it felt like she would be the kind of little girl to not dress up like them, but rip the heads off the dolls. Which, was friggin' awesome. But, Myron deserved an explanation he thought. At least some proof that she was okay to even walk out of the door?

Turning into the living room, apart of Myron's stomach dropped at the sight of a mangled blanket and empty couch. Alright. So maybe the sticky note with his request wasn't good enough? Should he have chained her to the couch or something? He wasn't her father. He wasn't her boyfriend. He wasn't her anything. So, she was free to go if she wanted. It was strange, though. There was a thought while driving home that made him a bit comforted that he wouldn't be going to an empty place. Also, that seeing Chianna would bring some relief. Literally, he thought she was dying tonight. He gave her. Myron was to tired to be angry too. So... whatever.

With a grumble that sounded more like his grandpa, he clicked off the living room light, and began walking into the kitchen. His stomach clenched from how hungry it was, like it was trying to squeeze whatever remains where leftover on his stomach lining. Which was ow material. What the hell were even in his cabinets? Spiders? Cobwebs? Maybe chips. Hopefully chips. D*mn chips sounded good.

On his way to the kitchen, Myron flung off his vest with gun and pills in it, hanging it up on the rack, and taking off his dirty and sweat stained button up shirt. Before he got to the kitchen, he stopped in the foyer at where the mirror was and stared at himself. Myron Bolitar looked like... Myron Bolitar but with something that wasn't there before. Well, the scar. Duh. But, he looked tired. He noticed he had gotten more muscular- which was no doubt from fighting. His hair had grown a little more, which if his grandmother were alive, she would totally offer to cut it in the bathroom like she always did, or complain about it until he went to the barber. Myron sadly smiled at himself. For awhile there, he had almost forgotten what he looked like. Funny, huh?

Raking a hand through his hair, he waddled into the kitchen, and then looked up-

"Holy piss!"

Myron shouted, feeling his heart do that thing again, his head do that spazz again, and his muscles tense. He took a step back, and then realized it was Chianna who was in his kitchen. Dammit he was so going to have a heart attack at the mere age he was. Blinking and letting his brain take in that it was Chianna he leaned against the archway and shook his head, letting it fall against his forearm. "Chianna..." He whispered with a half laugh. "I thought you left.."

Straightening up, realizing that he was.. well.. half naked, Myron folded his arms over where his scar was as if that were going to hide it, and looked at her with concern. She looked better, but if it were safe to say, they were both riding on the same ship tonight.

"Are you hungry?" He asked, realizing that she was in the kitchen. "I could whip you up some-"

Some what?

Myron half smiled and winked.

"Delivery?"

[Deleted]

Chianna Mimieux

Chianna opened her eyes. With that, her body jolted back to life. It was like a breath of air after drowning in the river. Experimentally, she blinked a couple times and shifted her arms and legs. She was lying down. With something on top of her. She felt around without looking. It was soft. A blanket? Her breathing was slow and it was normal. She did nothing but stay lying down and looking blankly up at the ceiling while listening only to her breathing. Breathing in, then out, then in, then out, then in... Her body felt light and weak. Something had purged from her system. That's what it felt like. A large film of gunk had been wiped from her insides. That's what it felt like. The feeling... Chianna pulled the blanket aside and pushed herself up. The ceiling wasn't familiar. She looked down. This couch wasn't familiar. She looked around. Where the hell was she?

Everything was strange and it was mostly dark. Some light was coming in from outside. She blinked some more and then stood up, immediately regretting doing so. The room rocked from side to side, threatening to rock away from her view. Grey splotches clouded her eyes. And then it was normal again. Normal. She felt good, but she felt weird, like something was slowing her down. She closed her eyes and saw the sluggish stuff oozing up and down her veins. It was making her feel sleepy and slow. But she was calm. Despite what the back of her messy mind was telling her, she wasn't panicky. Normally - normally - she'd have run for the exit, wherever that was. Where the hell was she? Her knee bumped something and she looked down. A table. It was in her way. She blinked and then shuffled her way around it, leaning on the couch for support. And then she looked back down at the table. A little piece of paper with scribbles. She picked it up and squinted to read it. But the paper was addressed to her. And the paper told her not to leave. Myron. This was a room, but she didn't look at anything. No, she looked, but she didn't see anything. None of it passed her eyes and ringed up in her head. None of it mattered. Nothing seemed to matter.

A tired groan came up from her stomach and she let the paper fall from her hands. She shut her eyes and found a wall, leaning against it. She put a hand against her stomach reflexively. That mattered, though. It felt so sudden, the hungry feeling. It snuck up on her and pounced with a growl. She was hungry - no... It took a few moments to register that she was starving. Where the hell was she?

Her eyes still closed, she tried to find clips of images and sounds and sights and smells, anything to help her figure out why she was here - wherever "here" was. She smelled - or thought she smelled - alcohol. And she heard someone laughing. It was buzzy in her head, a bunch of voices she couldn't understand. Chianna finally opened her eyes and looked down. Her hand was rubbing the strange fabric covering her stomach, and most of her upper body. What was she wearing? She brought her hand up to the exposed skin of her chest and rubbed her hand over her heart.

The images and feelings were slow coming. With each beat of her heart, a new image came up, and then another, and another. They fell down, each like a leaf floating down from a tree. One after the other, pieces of memory. She was slow to remember why the feeling of her hand over her heart was familiar. Chianna pushed herself from the wall and stumbled in a random direction, her hand still over her heart. The clothes covering her chest were just a little wet. Sweat? Yes. And her hand... The rubbing was doing nothing physically, but it was massaging a part of her brain, squeezing out the memories.

Monsieur Bolitar. She walked into something hard and stopped, her eyes unfocused and her body uncertain of its own movements. The laughing, the buzzy talking, the people staring. Monsieur Bolitar. The fire and the air and the drowning, falling and pain. It was all there. Chianna's hand left her chest and supported itself on the hard surface against her waist. It was cool and smooth. She blinked once, twice, four times and looked around. There was only a little light, from outside again. So she fumbled around and flipped on a light switch. A light turned on in another room. Wrong switch. So she flicked another. The light flooded the room. The kitchen. Her stomach grumbled again, as if sensing where she was. She was close to food. God, she was really starving. She ran her hands through her hair, which had flattened out, it seems, over the course of the night. The hair had been stupid, anyway.

Still feeling sluggish, she just stayed against the counter. She was too hungry and tired to move. But she was too hungry to just stay where she was, so she opened a cupboard and looked-

"Holy piss!"

Chianna let out a yell and whipped around. Her mind snapped out of the trance she'd been in and her body was on all alert. Scared out of her mind and ready to attack if necessary. Then she realized who it was. Why wasn't he wearing a shirt? She watched him wearily. What did he want with her now? She briefly remembered following him to his car. Somewhere, she had fallen asleep.

"Chianna... I thought you left.." He looked scared and then not. He half laughed as he talked. Well, she was still here. If she hadn't felt- oh, the drugs. That's why she felt that way. That's why she felt so peaceful. Peace had been a nice feeling, but now that she was back to herself, peace was an unwelcome thing. She had no time for peace in her life. Chianna stayed silent, looking at him while clutching the edge of the counter pressed against the small of her back.

"Are you hungry?" Yes. Yes. Yes... Her stomach pulled inwards trying to grab something, anything to fill itself. I could whip you up some-" He smiled. He winked. He looked so calm. Neither of them had been calm before. It had been... crazy. She loved and hated the word. Crazy. Was everything "normal" now? "Delivery?"

Chianna didn't say anything, only looked at Monsieur Bolitar and then she glanced around the kitchen. She looked semi-sideways in thought. Finally, her eyes came back to his and she gave him a small smile. "Anyzhing. I'm starving." And then she added, because she felt like she needed to add it, "Monsieur Bolitar." What had he done? He had saved her life? He had saved her from falling into something dark and deep, something that would have taken her ages to painfully crawl out of. "Merci, Monsieur Bolitar. Thank you." For the first time - it seemed like the first time - she felt very, very grateful to another human being.

[Deleted]

Myron Bolitar


Ladies and gentlemen, what Myron Bolitar is good for nowadays: drugs and delivery. His employee was really seeing him at his very best. Although, Chianna was nowhere near her very best, so why was he turning the tables on himself? Oh, right. Because everything was his fault nowadays. Y'know, the whole, trying to protect everyone's lives to f*cking up your own. Woa. Myron was more bitter than he thought. As inappropriate and horn doggish as this sounded- he needed to get laid. Sure. Call him a horrible man. Call him sickly, disgusting- but he'd call you a tardo for thinking that guys don't think about sex. Myron hadn't had human contact that wasn't punching, kicking, shooting, shoving, spitting, for a couple months now. Maybe a nice simple hug would be good? Myron Bolitar was bare chested, so he was obviously ready for something.

Kidding. Joke.

Ah, but he got a smile from Chianna! Which, was a relief. Because Myron Bolitar couldn't handle a non-smiling Chianna right now.

"Anyzhing. I'm starving."

And look at that, they were speaking the same language. Well, not technically because she had the loogie sounding accent, that she happened to make sound all velvet-like, and he was American.

Myron Bolitar didn't realize just how much he had missed company until now with Chianna in his kitchen. It felt better than even having Madeleine in the same room with him in the cozy respect, because lets face it, Madeleine wanted to claw his eyes out. But, Chianna didn't. She looked almost as broken down as he felt. Which, totally sounded like he was some womanizer, but it just wasn't so. The point was, someone was bent out of shape like he was, so she couldn't be clawing his eyes out or wanting an explanation, or yada yada yada. All she wanted was food. What a mighty fine woman.

Just as he was about to go to his drawer to find the massive of menus he had gathered over time of being a bachelor, her voice stopped him.

"Monsieur Bolitar."

Myron stopped and locked eyes with her. He tightly smiled, finding something swell in his chest. Her hair was no longer the seventies afro that he just about ate when it flopped against his face, and her cheeks had this tinge of color. She was pretty, but something hurt in him for her. Well, yeah, okay, maybe not for her, Myron Bolitar just hurt, but it was better to think that he felt bad for someone, than he feeling like sh*t himself. He felt good that she was alright and that she was safe with him tonight. Chianna was a tough cookie that was for freaking sure. But, there was some sort of mystery to her. What happened? Did that happen often? Myron Bolitar had that hero complex and he could feel it nagging at his brain. Was it his problem now? Didn't some sort of fate or whatever the hell the world is based off of just give this to him? Myron Bolitar wasn't about to ignore it.

Ladies and gentlemen, why Myron Bolitar almost died...

"Merci, Monsieur Bolitar. Thank you."

Myron's smile widened as he approached her, putting a hand on her cheek and rubbing a thumb gently. "Hey, don't thank me, kay? And my dad's dead, so call me Myron." He murmured with a grin winking at her as he walked to the drawer, busting off some menus. Morbid joke, most people get all offended or awkward when he says it, but come on! It's the oldest joke in the book and thee funniest. Myron even said it when his dad was alive.

"So," He began, picking up a menu to some place he could never pronounce but he and Toddy ordered from all the time. Walking over to her to stand in front of her, he held up the menu, "You order whatever the hell you want, double the order, while I go get a shirt on and get you something to change into-"

Myron's expression turned serious as he glinted into her eyes, searching for something. Whatever it was that set Chianna apart from everyone else.

"Then you tell me what that was all about tonight."

[The Exodus]

Natalie Blackwood

Natalie didn’t fall for people easily or often. She’d made Lucian do just about everything shy of licking her shoes clean before she agreed to date him. Her affair with Anthony had been slow building, slow burning, and incredibly tentative until those last few months. As a child, she’d had crushes—the usual, playground fare. As a teen, she’d dated, but not enough to drive her father to distraction, the way her eldest sister had. Of the Blackwood girls, Natalie was the moderate one. Not the crazy nymphomaniac rebel; not the cloistered holy virgin. Even when breaking free of her Stepford Wife Reality, Natalie had been choosy. Selective. Careful. She picked the “right” men. Wealth, propriety, charisma, intellect, parenting potential… It all came far before good looks and bad jokes.

Which was why it surprised her that she was doing this.

Natalie hadn’t “fallen” for Myron Bolitar, but to say she wasn’t intrigued would be a boldfaced lie. He’d made her laugh—side-splittingly hard at times. And, yes, he was good looking and charming, but proper he was not. She couldn’t give half a care towards his parenting skills. His wealth and university degrees hadn’t been topics of interest during their short-lived courtship (if you could call it a “courtship”). And yet, here she was, parked outside his apartment.

He’d given her his phone number. Armed with that and his unique first and last names, Natalie dared to look him up in the phone book. It was a gamble, but even in a city the size of Paris, the chances of there being more than one Myron Bolitar were slim. She’d found his address and to her relief, he hadn’t fed her a fake identity. Or if he had, a very real Myron Bolitar lived in a fashionable neighborhood across the city. She determined to see him again. Satiate her curiosity, if you would.

But now that she sat outside the apartment complex, Natalie had her doubts. Maybe he’d given her the name and number of a man he hated. Or of someone important with a team of body guards who would dump Natalie out.

Or, maybe less sinisterly, if he had given her correct information, but carefully omitted damning details.

What if he was a married man, with a jealous wife? Nothing Natalie hadn’t encountered; no sin too great to weigh her down. What if he had children of his own—young ones—who would be confused by a strange woman on the doorstep.

Or what if he just hadn’t counted on her calling? Much less showing up?

She exhaled and killed the ignition. She stepped out of the car and walked around the front. The bronze color glittered up at her in the springtime sun and she ran a nervous hand over the smooth, warm hood. She wanted to leave the car unlocked for a quick getaway if an angry wife chased her from the flat. Instead, she locked the car and made her way to the door. Nothing ventured, nothing gained…

Besides, if there was one thing Natalie had gotten very good at, it was facing indignant spouses. She smoothed her blouse and rang the doorbell.

[Deleted]

Myron Bolitar

If of his co-workers asked he was, 'helping an important friend with an important need' with it being, 'so important it was important no one interrupt'. If any of his friends asked he was in a 'very important meeting' with, 'very important people so he could not be interrupted'. Now, if a lie detector were to ask, Myron Bolitar had an important date with the cast of General Hospital. Yeah, so no shame, Myron Bolitar had snuck out of his life to escape in some trashy television daytime drama. Everyone had their guilty pleasure, and everyone expects a man’s to be pornography, a strip club, or gambling. That all may have been the cliché’, a cliché that probably seemed a little more manlier, but things that wouldn’t keep Myron Bolitar entranced in the hot heavy drama that was occurring right now with Lulu and Spencer!

Myron watched with wide eyes as Lulu unleashed a can of whoop *ss onto Spencer, the camera doing this swooping spin over to a look on Spencer’s face that twisted into something Myron Bolitar declared to be a cross between constipation and heart break. They were on the same emotional playing field though, right? He popped in a kernel of kettle corn, adjusting his Avengers snuggie he bought on Amazon. It made him feel a little manlier during this time of kettle corn and soap opera.

Just as Lulu was about to reveal to Spencer that she really was his twin sister come back from the dead, and had surgery and a name change, Myron’s front door spoke up and grabbed his attention. Yes, Myron Bolitar jumped in his seat, a few kernels flying. But this was his time and no one else knew about this time or that he would be home. So who in the hell? He felt absolutely vulnerable and exposed. He was caught and his secret was now out. Someone knew. Someone was coming to find the truth.

In a rush, Myron clicked off the big screen, setting down the bowl of kettle corn and flinging his Avenger snuggie behind his leather couch, internally apologizing to the crew for being so mortified of them and hoping they wouldn’t take it personally. Myron Bolitar just wanted to keep some dignity.

Confused because who the hell came to the door unexpectedly without a phone call or text in this day and age? It was so, Leave it to Beaver. Myron Bolitar patted down his halfway unbuttoned dress shirt, opening the door and then completely morphing into a seven year old boy without a damn thingy to say and a brain cell in his head.

“Natalie?”

It slipped out right when he saw her. Myron didn’t get why people questioned the name of the people they always saw, but it was the thing to do when someone was shocked. It was like, no sh*t that’s there name, great job. But, it just happened in the moment. Myron Bolitar wasn’t expecting her.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about her or that night. In fact, Myron Bolitar had given her his number and he had been hoping and obsessing for a couple days that she would use it. After a time, he let it slip and fade away. He didn’t really think it was one night stand procedure to think about ones partner so much afterward, but a one night stand didn’t have much of a proper protocol to begin with anyways. Bottom line was, Natalie was a beautiful woman and that night had been one of the best nights to date. Myron Bolitar had tried to be the one to leave, but instead they make Mickey Mouse pancakes together and had a great morning. He sometimes thought about working up the nerve to call her and ask her out, or- erm- get together for coffee- whatever one does after a one nightstand, because here does one go after they had been… everywhere that other dates would have been? Myron didn’t know how she felt though and he didn’t want to press the matter.

Now as she stood in front of him, Myron Bolitar felt a little like they were on the same page. But then, maybe she was here for something that wasn’t that at all. Was she going to slap him? He didn’t know why he thought that- probably General Hospital getting into his head. Damn Lulu and Spencer.

After the shock settled in, Myron smiled with happy eyes. Which was, not like him to not just say a smooth line or a grin, but he was genuinely happy to see her. Natalie was at his door.

He didn’t know whether to ask if she were okay or if she had really wanted to slap him, because thought before, it was not like people nowadays to not just call rather than go to doors. Plus, it meant she had to actually hunt to find his address.

All thoughts pushed aside, Myron Bolitar was a little lost in how beautiful she looked.

“It’s-“ He swallowed, “It’s really good to see you.” A little confused, he stepped to the side, “Wanna’ come in?”

[The Exodus]

Natalie Blackwood

The second the doorbell was rung, Natalie remembered every reason why showing up was inappropriate. At least, showing up empty handed was inappropriate. A woman may not have brought a man flowers after a one-night stand, but when visiting, you brought something for the host. A bottle of wine, dessert… a fruit basket. Something. Anything. Etiquette had been so important to Natalie for most of her life. It had all flown out the window when she looked up Myron’s address in the phone book. She considered slinking off. But the door opened before she could move. Myron said her name, as though he’d been expecting—literally—anyone else.

“It’s-“ He swallowed, “It’s really good to see you.” A little confused, he stepped to the side, “Wanna’ come in?”

“All right,” Natalie said, smiling. She ran a hand through her hair as she stepped in. Myron’s foyer and living room seemed rather industrial—it surprised her. She expected whole swaths of color. Splashes of it clashing at every corner. Crazy, vibrant patterns. The vastness, too, surprised her. She didn’t know what she’d expected. She hadn’t expected anything, really. Certainly she never expected to show up at his place. She let her hand flutter to her side and she turned to face Myron. “Nice place. … I’m sure you’re wondering why I just… showed up. I apologize if I was interrupting anything.”

She cleared her throat. She wondered, too, why she had just shown up.

“I just wanted to make sure I hadn’t imagined the other night.”

Her lips curved up to a smile.

Trust me to imagine a man named Myron Bolitar.

“I just wanted to see your face.”

[Deleted]

Myron Bolitar

When Natalie agreed and walked past him, Myron Bolitar took a second by the doorway to blink. That sounded like it wouldn't need to have a moment, but blinking was making him blink the suprise off of his smitten face. Yes, he said smitten. Myron shut the door, his mind trying to comprehend what was going on. Being blindsided was not a flattering emotion on him, he knew. Especially something like this. So, she hadn't come here to slap him? She had more dignity then to come back to his door asking for, erm, another round of what their last meeting had been. Point blank, not a lot of people came to his door in general. Unless, you know, they needed him to hide a gun or something. If his door guests were going to be like Natalie Blackwood, Myron Bolitar did not mind answering.

With a small smirk tugging at his lips, Myron turned to her, looking at her with curious eyes.

Natalie was taking a gander around the place, and Myron Bolitar thanked whatever force was in charge of him not messing up the place, or never being around to do so. With a quick glance before she turned around, he made sure that in the next room the snuggie was snugged away, and the television remained off.

"Nice place."

Myron stopped gazing at her profile when she turned around to face him. He thanked her, and she cleared her throat.

"I’m sure you’re wondering why I just… showed up. I apologize if I was interrupting anything.”

She would never know or be allowed to know just exactly what she was 'interrupting'. In fact, his manlihood should have probably thanked her.

“I just wanted to make sure I hadn’t imagined the other night.”

Just like that Myron's features lit up. Natalie was smiling at him now, and he was smiling right back at her.

"I just wanted to see your face."

Myron Bolitar wanted to... swoon. Which would really add to his afternoon activities. His mouth opened slightly in a more genuine and wider smile, his eyes glinting into her shimmering blue eyes that he could get lost in. How sexy. How generally awesome as hell was that? Natalie just shows up at his door because she wanted to see his face. A woman took action in a bold way, and to Myron, that would always be a turn on. No, something deeper and less slimier than that. No one had ever said that to him before, and it felt like a hell of a long time someone had ever went out of their way to see, 'his face'. Myron Bolitar had seen Natalie as beautiful, sexy, fun, but this was just... adorable and lovely. He felt his heart do a little beat skip. In a lot of ways, Myron felt like he was always the bold, random, taking action one in all of his relationships, friendships, and the like. This was a different feeling, and he was not imagining it, much how like neither of them imagined the other night.

"Well, here it is," Myron murmured, his eyes not leaving hers, and closing in the space between them. "And it's really enjoying looking at your face." He told her, not thinking about his hand as it moved to her cheek, his thumb caressing her cheek bone.

Myron Bolitar had the urge to kiss her, but that was not his place. This wasn't after a couple drinks, this wasn't some night club, and they weren't out on the prowl. This was a genuine real moment. Myron was the one nightstand guy to her, and that didn't give him the right to make a move on her as he pleased. Plus, as much as he wanted to kiss her, he moreso wanted to get to know her. Still, it would be dumb of him to think that he was just imagining their spark.

"Make yourself comfortable." He told her, his expression serious, his eyes looking past hers at her lips.

After a moment, he brushed passed her, making his way into the kitchen. "Did you want a soda or something?" Myron called out over his shoulder, wiping his face with his hand to try and clear his head a little and to get back onto the rocker that he was just knocked off of. "Water or uh-" He opened his fridge, and looked and scratched his head. "Chocolate milk."

Myron Bolitar, entertaining a woman one chocolate milk bubba at a time.

[The Exodus]

Natalie Blackwood

She sounded so stupid and childish. Her voice wasn’t; it stayed even and smooth. But the words were those of a broken little girl, used to dreaming up men who actually cared and used to the disappointment when reality didn’t live up to expectation. How desperate, how clingy to turn up at your one-night stand’s place, just to see his face.

Natalie wanted to melt right into the floor. But she was never the kind to let humiliation get the best of her. She held her head high and smiled her best, grown up smile. That smile faltered—melted—when Myron closed the gap between them.

"Well, here it is," he murmured. "And it's really enjoying looking at your face."

Natalie laughed quietly, leaning into Myron’s hand as he stroked her cheek. Maybe she didn’t sound so childish and needy, after all. It wasn’t as though she’d come with an agenda.

Kiss me, she thought with sudden fieriness. It nearly doubled her over how badly she wanted to be kissed. But when he pulled away, Natalie realized that she may not have come to the apartment with an agenda, but she now had one. She wanted to be kissed in broad daylight.

"Make yourself comfortable," He told her, his expression serious, his eyes looking past hers at her lips.

Natalie walked into the living room and sat down on the couch. Myron, meanwhile, moved into the kitchen. Agitation buzzed in Natalie’s head. She wanted him to sit beside her so that talking could lend itself to petting and kissing and touching.

Snogging, Damien would have called it. That thought quieted the buzzing in her head long enough to pay attention to Myron’s words.

"Did you want a soda or something? Water or uh… Chocolate milk."


Natalie got up off the couch and made her way into the kitchen. Myron had said to make herself at home and sitting aside, letting him play hostess was as far from feeling at home as Natalie could be. She leaned against the open door. The cold sent a little shiver up her back.

“Don’t worry about playing host—I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.” She paused and swung the refrigerator door shut. “How have you been?”

[Deleted]

Myron Bolitar


What was he suppose to do, offer her champagne in the middle of the afternoon? Myron Bolitar stared down that chocolate milk jug like it was to blame for it's existence. The fact that he was shoving his head into the fridge gave him some downtime with himself. It wasn't that Myron wasn't good or smooth, but this situation was entirely different than any he had ever been in before. Any type of situation like that was bound to get anyone a little nerved up. Myron wasn't gonna lie- the cold air was almost like he was having a cold shower, and after that last internal thought as he was only inches away from Natalie, he kinda' needed it.

“Don’t worry about playing host—I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”

Natalie had startled her, because she wasn't well, taking orders and making herself comfortable. Myron swallowed with a smirk as she leaned up against the door. What came next though made his blood run quick. She quickly shut the door so it was just the two standing their in the kitchen. Myron Bolitar remembered when they were last standing in a kitchen together. They had pretty much explored every space of that kitchen pretty damn well, and he had not been imagining that.

“How have you been?”

Myron Bolitar's eyebrows rose quick, sliding a hand in his pocket and leaning a hand against the counter. It was a simple enough question, but it was odd that it was so ... simple. Nothing about them had been so simple at this point.

Damn, Myron dont dissect it, just answer it.

"Well..." Myron began, and then with a burst of energy, tossed himself up onto the counter island in the middle of the kitchen, and took a sitting position with his hands on his lap. He wiggled his hand flatly and made a noise, "Meh-neh-" He negatively mused, and then smirked, winking at her. "But better now." Because she was there.

Myron Bolitar slapped a hand next to him for her to join him. Kitchens were there room of choice afterall.

"By all means please tell me how you've been with a sound effect."

[The Exodus]

Natalie Blackwood

Myron flipped around to lean on the counter. Natalie tilted her head and realized—perhaps to her horror—that she wasn’t just making small talk. She genuinely wanted to know. A trickle of panic crept into her. Why did she care? Why should she? She had absolutely no right to. Certainly, she had no need to care. As far as she could recall, in the last year or so the only person she cared completely about was Damien. She cared for her sisters, her parents, her friends. But there were so many days that it seemed all that caring was one-sided. Deservedly so. Caring about Myron would be no different. He would give her a plastic smile, a wave of the hand and a “Fine, thanks” and if she was lucky a “How are you?” None of it would be genuine and that would be fine. Natalie expected it. She expected one-sided Q&A sessions, where she pulled for answers that sometimes never came.

"Well..." Myron said, stretching the word out. Then, unexpectedly, Myron pushed himself up onto the island. He put one hand in his lap, the other, he used to give the universal, so-so sign and made a sound that didn’t sound as though he’d been doing particularly well.

And then Myron winked at her.

"But better now."

Be still my beating heart,[/i] Natalie thought, a bit sarcastically. Even still, she smiled and accepted Myron’s offer when he gestured for her to join him. Natalie pushed herself up onto the island, knowing full well that more than once, she’d chased Damien down from doing exactly the same thing.


"By all means please tell me how you've been with a sound effect."

Natalie laughed. And then she realized, this was the sort of thing Myron would be serious about.

“Do you really want to know?” she asked, cocking her head to the side.

Natalie thought what sort of sound would encapsulate how she’d been feeling since she last saw Myron. Again, her world was in a state of transition. Her therapist was on maternity leave, which left her with a new therapist—a man named Dr. Jude Oxley, who was nice enough, but who Natalie doubted would understand what it was like to be a divorced mum. Damien was evidently serious enough about Toddy to take him away for the week—or weekend, Natalie wasn’t sure which, but it certainly felt like a long time—and she was growing progressively less combative of the idea of them together. She still wasn’t happy about it; she still thought her son deserved a doctor or a diplomat or a prince from a small, Mediterranean nation that no one could pronounce. But until Damien came to his senses, it wasn’t so wrong of him to date Toddy. It would be boyfriend training and could be karmic-ly blamed when Damien was a parent to a teenager, intent on dating someone that gave him as many headaches as Toddy gave Natalie.

And, of course, Natalie was still strapped for things to do in Paris. She felt utterly useless and now that her neighbors’ flowerbeds were blooming, she missed her garden so much that it physically ached. It sounded childish, but at this time of year, she was elbow-deep in rich earth, pulling up eggplants and plucking tomatoes and pruning rosebushes. Reaping her recreational harvest, accomplishing something. She hadn’t accomplished much of anything except to gain half a stone and to rack up credit card bills at fancy stores to annoy Lucian. She wished she was infinitely more interesting; that her noise would be something less blasé than Myron’s “meh-neh”.

She huffed out a sigh, which rubbed her lips together in a frustrated “Brrrr” noise.

“I guess that about sums it up,” she said, looking over at Myron. Natalie shook her head and smiled. “It must be bad; we’re reduced to little better than cave-speech to express ourselves.”

[Deleted]

Myron Bolitar

Sometimes someone could have too much of Myron Bolitar. Woah, stop the world, report the press, right? It wasn't really a news flash, he knew, that at times he could be over bearing in his ways. In this particular case, at this particular moment, Myron had a moment of, 'Oh crap, this may be too much'. Everyone has experienced this feeling though. Natalie Blackwood didn't seem like the type of woman who would express herself with a... noise, growl, sound effect. At least what Myron had been gathering from the little he knew about her. She just seemed, put together, or at least trying to maintain something around that image. Of course, Myron Bolitar shouldn't have been judging, but what else did he have to go on? The little conversation they had and the mannerisms or ... the sex. Which, did he mention was phenomenal ?

When she laughed, it eased him a little bit. Myron would never quit being himself, but he sometimes happened to be paranoid if his quirkiness was too much for some people that he thought he belonged in a straight jacket. Sticks and stones, right? Although he was less paranoid about it- which, he usually never got paranoid to this degree so that was just like, ridiculous- but still, she could have been doing that womanly polite laugh thing. Women always had the fake laugh down and fake org@sms. He wouldn't know because he would like to think that no one had ever done either of those two with him, the laughing one being more important to him, but it eventually happened to everyone. Still, there was that creepy sensation nagging at him to make Natalie Blackwood genuinely laugh and content at this moment.

"Do you really want to know?”

More than she probably knew. Slow your roll with the caring thoughts... Still, being this close to her again brought on a lot of thoughts. He tried to not look over at her that much, and not notice how their arms were rubbing against one another, but forcefully trying to divert from thinking about something makes you think harder. Myron glinted at her with a nod, pushing her forward because the fact that Natalie Blackwood was about to play along was the most amusement he had all day.

Then it happened. Her lips rolled together and she sighed, 'Brrrr' being the sound of choice. It was brilliant! Myron Bolitar laughed in appreciation. Not a lot of people played along with his.. Myron-esque activities. That's what delightfully set her apart.

The sound made Myron think that maybe they were on the same ship. Of course, she could have been completely better off or completely worse, but he wasn't trying to have a 'my life is way worse' competition here. Just some sort of understanding. Natalie was, 'Br', which meant... cold. Myron Bolitar could turn up the heat.

Myron Bolitar, ladies and gentlemen- the internal thinking charmer.

“I guess that about sums it up."

They looked at one another, smiling.

“It must be bad; we’re reduced to little better than cave-speech to express ourselves.”

Myron grinned, nudging her lightly with his elbow, "At least we're not expressing ourselves like Ted Bundy or something." Then he paused, looked up and shook his head. "Stooping to comparison of serial killers to make myself feel better." He let out a scoff at himself, without thinking, patting a hand down on her knee, "It is bad, isn't it?"

Looking at his hand, not wanting to cross any boundaries and make her feel uncomfortable, Myron Bolitar slowly took his hand away, folding his hands in his lap. That way they couldn't..you know... act out without thinking again.

[The Exodus]

Natalie Blackwood

Natalie wondered if this was normal behavior for a post-divorce forty-something. Standing in a kitchen with a man ten years your junior—who you had slept with not so long ago—making stupid sounds instead of words to say how you felt. It was regression. It was humiliating. It was never happening in public. There was no way Natalie would ever give anyone the satisfaction of knowing this was how she spent her time in Paris. Beatrice would laugh. Amelia would shake her head sadly. Damien would be royally embarrassed. And somewhere off to the side, Lucian would wrap his arm around Ashton’s waist and smirk into her hair, thankful to have been rid of Natalie long before she lost her marbles.

"At least we're not expressing ourselves like Ted Bundy or something," said Myron, as if to comfort Natalie. She looked at him blankly. The name was unfamiliar. Myron shook his head. "Stooping to comparison of serial killers to make myself feel better." He let out a scoff at himself, without thinking, patting a hand down on her knee, "It is bad, isn't it?"

“Bad,” Natalie said, putting her hand on top of Myron’s, “But ‘bad’ could always be worse. Or better, for that matter.”

She thought for a moment. There had to be a way to make this better. And maybe “better” wasn’t to be found inside the apartment. Maybe the reason they were expressing themselves through onamonapia and drawing comparisons to serial killers (which, Natalie’s rational side was highlighting as a red flag in case Myron decided he should ‘express himself like Ted Bundy’ at any point) was because they were reduced to one night stands, bar crawling, and airless kitchens.

“Which is why I’m stopping this pity party before it begins. Come along. We’re going out.”